Duplicity
by cmar
Summary: Batman and Nightwing go into action against an old friend turned enemy, as TwoFace shows his other side. Third in 'Birds of a Feather' series. Complete.
1. Vitriol

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

A/N: Based (loosely) on 'The Crimes of Two-Face', Detective Comics 66, 1942; 'The Man Who Led a Double Life', Detective 68, 1942; and 'The End of Two-Face', Detective Comics 80, 1943. 

This takes place in the AU created in 'Birds of a Feather', based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's with some elements from the present-day version, and taking place a few years ago. It includes only the Golden/early Silver Age characters: principally Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Kathy Kane (the original Batwoman), and Barbara Gordon. 

Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist. 

With some reservations, I've gone with the better-known version of Harvey's name: Harvey Dent, instead of the original: Harvey Kent. Harvey's friendship with Bruce is from the animated series, along with a few other elements; in the original he was a friend of Batman's. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Vitriol

* * *

"Recognize this, Mr. Moroni?"

"Nope." 

"Strange. According to your own employees, it's yours. Your lucky coin." He turned the silver disk in his fingers. "No wonder it's lucky; it has two heads. No tail." 

There was a light ripple of laughter. In his seat in the spectators' section of the courtroom, Bruce Wayne smiled, just a fraction. Harvey was in fine form today. 

Moroni was speaking again, his small eyes dark with anger and hatred. "Looks like mine. So what?" 

"So what..." Harvey turned, obviously making sure the cameras got a good shot of his face. "Are you aware of where the police found it?" 

"I know where they said they found it." 

"On the floor of Ernest Benson's apartment. A few yards from his dead body. Where you left it." 

"Your honor, I object!" 

"Counselor, is there a question in there?" 

"Sorry, your honor. Let me put it this way. Mr. Moroni, how do you suppose this coin could have gotten in Mr. Benson's apartment?" 

"I dunno." 

"Do you have some theory? A guess? Anything?" 

"I been in Benson's apartment before. Musta dropped it." 

"And it lay there until Mr. Benson was murdered? He must not have been much of a housekeeper." 

There was another low wave of laughter. Harvey glanced at the audience, flashing a grin. This time Bruce frowned, although he kept the expression off his face. So far the papers were full of praise for Harvey's flair for the dramatic, but that might change if he took it too far. The important thing here was the trial, the effort to convict a dangerous mob boss of the murder of 'Bookie' Benson, a minor hood who had been suspected of double-crossing Moroni and his organization. Harvey's career, and getting his face on the news even more than it usually was, wasn't the point. Or it shouldn't be. 

To be fair, Bruce knew, Harvey wasn't doing it out of ambition, or at least not primarily. He was sincerely dedicated to fighting crime. He had wanted to get Moroni for a long time, enough to be prosecuting this case himself, a somewhat unusual move for a district attorney. No, his weakness was a streak of vanity, not only about his classic good looks but about his image, the aura of glamour that always seemed to surround him. He loved the attention this high-profile trial was bringing him - and why not? As long as he got the job done. 

"Mr. Moroni, we have testimony from one of your own employees, implicating you in the murder of Mr. Benson. How do you explain the statement you just heard from-" 

"He's lying! I ain't never killed nobody!" 

"And the gun the police found in a nearby alley? With your fingerprints on it?" 

"It ain't mine!" 

"The evidence that it was the murder weapon..." 

"They faked it!" 

"Eyewitnesses who saw you running from the building..." 

"They're all lying!" 

Harvey regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments, and then smiled. "So, your former employee was lying. The police faked the evidence. The witnesses were lying. I'd say a lot of people don't like you, Mr. Moroni." 

"You're a smug bastard, ain't ya?" Moroni's eyes had narrowed. His voice had dropped from a shout into a low and chilling tone of hatred. 

"Smug? No. But I think I know who's been lying here." Harvey turned away, his face blandly confident. "I'm finished with this witness, your honor." 

"You're finished, all right." Moroni's voice was still soft, but it set off alarm bells in Bruce's mind. 

It all seemed to happen in slow motion after that, yet too fast for anyone to stop it. Moroni sprang to his feet, something in his hand catching the light. Harvey, turning back to face him, started to react, stepping back. Moroni raised his arm and threw the object. Harvey began to turn away again, a hand up to shield himself. The object flew at him, striking his face and shattering. Time seemed to freeze as liquid splattered over the side of Harvey's face, and Moroni laughed. 

Then all hell broke loose. With an agonized scream Bruce knew he would never forget, Harvey clapped his hands over his face and crumpled to his knees. The court guards charged past him, and Moroni vanished as they tackled him to the floor of the witness box. People were shouting, screaming, cursing. Bruce was on his feet, heart pounding. He tried to push his way forward, struggled against the bodies clogging the aisle. Everyone was either trying to get out or trying to get closer, getting in his way. Finally he used brute strength to shove between them and through the gate between the spectator's section and the court. 

"You can't come in here, sir!" A large and determined-looking guard was in front of him, blocking his way. 

"I just want to help," Bruce said. 

"Best way is to get out of here. We need this courtroom cleared." 

"But - but Harvey - Mr. Dent's my friend..." 

"Sorry, sir. Turn around and leave. Now." 

They glared at each other for a moment. Bruce looked over the man's shoulder at Harvey, now doubled up on the floor, moaning, two guards and the court clerk bending over him. "What happened?" he asked. "What was that stuff?" 

"Maybe bleach or ammonia. But my guess is acid." The guard's face softened slightly. "Please, sir, go on and get out. Let us do our jobs." 

Their jobs. That was something Bruce could understand. He nodded, swallowed, threw a last glance at his friend, and headed back to the door. Outside, things were almost as chaotic, with a mob of people milling in the corridor: some asking questions, some telling what they had seen, some just looking dazed. He caught sight of a news camera and a woman combing her fingers through her hair in a nervously self-conscious gesture before she nodded and began to speak. 

"I'm standing in the Gotham Central Courthouse, where District Attorney Harvey Dent has just been injured in a bizarre attack which took place in the midst of the Moroni murder trial..." 

* * *

Silence. That was what he noticed first. Then darkness. It was so quiet and peaceful. There was something... something he didn't quite want to remember. Harvey let himself sink back into sleep.

* * *

The next time he woke up, it wasn't so easy. A few flashes came back - faces around him, a voice saying something angry. Something hitting him... pain... so much pain... He moaned softly, almost without realizing it.

"Harvey?" A woman's voice, gentle and soothing. 

_'Gilda...?'_ He tried to say it aloud, but his throat hurt and his mouth wouldn't work. Fingers touched his hand, then interlaced with his. 

"I'm here, Harvey. The doctors say you'll be fine. Don't try to talk, just rest." 

Rest. Too exhausted to worry much about what he was supposed to be resting from, he did as she said, and the world faded away again. 

* * *

And then the time came when he realized he was awake for real. Still sluggish, still dazed. _Drugged,_ he decided. _Why?_ The pain... a hint of it was still there, a burning in the left side of his face, and in his left hand. Nothing compared to the memory that returned now.

The courtroom. Moroni had thrown something. It had hit... and then the pain. Everything was a blur after that. Just confusion, and shouts, and running feet, and pain. 

Now... he was in a hospital. Must be. Only a hospital smelled like this. But why was it dark? There was something over his face... Tentatively, he raised a hand to touch, and found gauze bandaging, thickest over the left side, but covering both eyes. He had been hurt. But how badly? 

"Hello?" he said, alarmed at the way his voice cracked and trembled. "Is anyone there?" 

No response. Cautiously, he sat up. After spinning giddily for a few seconds, his head settled back onto place. Harvey fumbled around, his fingers finding the headboard. There should be a call button... but what if he did something wrong, turned something off, or on? He had never been in a hospital before, not as a patient... Then the sound of heels clicking came to him faintly, getting steadily louder. They stopped, and there was a slight rattling sound - a door knob? The faint swoosh of a door opening? - and they approached. 

"I see you've finally decided to join us, Mr. Dent!" It was a woman's voice, brisk and professionally friendly. 

"What's going on? Is this a hospital?" 

"Yes. You're in Gotham Memorial. I'm Brenda, one of your nurses." 

"What..." He gulped, suddenly almost unable to ask, not at all sure he could stand the answer he sensed he was likely to get. "What's happened to me?" 

There was a slight hesitation before she answered, her tone neutral and calm. "You're being treated for acid burns to the face and hand. You also suffered some minor injury to the respiratory system from inhaling the fumes, but that's pretty much cleared up now." 

"Moroni. He threw something." 

"Yes. It was sulfuric acid." 

"Am I... Am I blind?" 

A reassuring almost-chuckle was in her voice, as she answered immediately this time. "Oh, no. You're lucky, none of it got into your eyes, and your vision should be fine. There was some irritation from the fumes and some burning of the lids, so Doctor thought it was best to keep them covered." 

Harvey let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "How bad is it?" he asked in a more steady voice. 

"You're expected to make a full recovery." But now that subtly evasive hesitation was back. 

"The burns, how bad-" 

"Doctor will explain the rest. Just relax now, I'll tell him you're awake." A hand patted his arm. Shoes clicked again, this time fading away. Harvey closed his eyes, not that it made much difference behind those bandages. Sulfuric acid. He remembered it, the pain, a fiery, oily liquid on his skin, covering the left side of his face... As a lawyer, he'd heard of it before. Used as a weapon, thrown in the faces of unfaithful spouses, of rivals, of enemies... it burned the skin, leaving victims scarred, disfigured for life. 

Only there was another name for it. Vitriol. 

* * *

It was strange, not being able to see. Sound became much more important. Over the next week Harvey became familiar with every sound in the repertory of his corner of Gotham Memorial Hospital. He started to recognize the footsteps of his nurses, and of the doctor who most often came to see him. There were familiar sounds when the shifts changed, the echoes of cheerful hellos and goodbyes. He listened as the murmur of conversations in other voices drifted by his door. The everyday sounds made by other patients came to him: the way they breathed, snored, moaned. There was a guard posted outside his door; he could hear greetings being exchanged when people came in and out or only passed by. And now, he could hear two sets of footsteps approaching, one of them familiar, the tones of a soft voice before the knob turned; the corridor sounds became clearer and louder for a moment, then faded as the door shut again.

"Hello, Gilda," he said. 

"How did you...?" 

"It's true that you make up for the loss of sight with the sense of hearing. I recognized your footsteps, and your voice outside. Who's with you?" 

"It's me, Harvey. How are you doing?" 

"Bruce!" Harvey smiled, not that they could see it under the bandaging. "Nice of you to come." He held out his undamaged right hand. Shoe leather squeaked and it was taken in a strong grasp. 

"I tried to visit before," Bruce continued. "They wouldn't allow anyone besides Gilda and a few official visitors." 

"I know. They told me you sent flowers. I can smell them." 

"How are you feeling today?" Gilda asked as the scrape of chair legs announced that at least one of them had sat down. 

"Better every day." Harvey left it at that. Not much more to say on the subject, after all. 

"They say you're making a good recovery," Bruce's voice commented. 

"Yeah. That's what they say." 

"I guess you know Moroni pleaded guilty to the murder charge. Not much chance he'd be acquitted after - after what happened." 

"Bruce..." Gilda's voice was gently reproachful. 

"No, it's okay, Gilda," Harvey said. "I don't mind talking about it. In fact, I'm sick of avoiding it. Sick of no one telling me what's going on. They won't even let me have a radio or TV in here. They say it would be 'disturbing'..." He took a breath. "Have they found out how Moroni got that sulfuric acid? How he got it into the courtroom?" 

"Yes. His gang arranged it with a couple of guards who were willing to be bribed. They've been identified, and they're facing criminal charges." 

"Is Moroni being charged with the attack on me?" 

"He pleaded that out, too. Assault on an officer of the court. Five to seven." 

"Five to seven." 

"Along with the murder and some racketeering charges, it means he'll never get out." 

"Five to seven years... and I have to live with it for the rest of my life." 

"Harvey, the doctors said you'll be fine," Gilda protested, her voice determinedly reassuring. But that was another thing about Harvey's newly enhanced hearing. The edge of sadness and desperation Gilda was trying to hide was clear as a bell. 

"I won't be _fine_," he said roughly. "I'll be scarred. Permanently." 

"You're alive, aren't you? You have your sight. Your mind. You'll be able to walk, and talk. You can still do your job. A few scars won't make any difference." 

"I guess." 

"Harvey, please..." Both of her soft, small hands took his, the one that was still whole, squeezing it gently. A whiff of her perfume came to him on a whisper of air, her voice was close, and he knew she must be leaning over him. 

"I'm sorry, Gilda. You're right, I guess I'm lucky." 

"Of course. And remember, whatever happens, I love you." 

"Love you too." Harvey returned the pressure of her fingers, and then deliberately yawned. "Sorry, but I'm feeling a little tired." 

"We understand." There were the sounds of both of them getting to their feet. "I'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart." 

"I'll see you then. Sort of." 

"Great to see you doing better, Harvey." Gilda's hands were replaced by Bruce's firmer grip. 

"Yeah. We'll be hitting the party circuit again in no time, huh, Bruce?" 

"Right. Well, so long for now." 

"Bye." 

And he was left alone, as he had wanted. As he had come to prefer, much as he loved Gilda, much as he had always liked the company of his fellow humans. Alone, with no one to feel sorry for him, or try to cheer him up, or make empty attempts to convince him everything would be all right. 

The bandages were coming off soon. Very soon. The doctor had promised. Then he would see... 

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want your fiancée here?"

"I'm sure." Harvey unclenched his fist and rubbed the palm of his right hand over his knee, drying the sweat. 

"Most people want the support of their loved ones at a time like this." 

"I'm not most people. Can we just get on with it?" 

"Of course." 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Morgan. I'm just - a little nervous." 

"Of course. I'm nervous myself." The doctor's voice was steady and straightforward. Harvey liked that. He had come to hate the sympathy he heard from almost everyone around him now. The pity. The hushed tones, the forced optimism, as if he were a sick child. At least Dr. Morgan and Brenda, his main nurse, weren't like that. They were friendly, supportive, but coolly professional. That was why he had requested that only they be here when the bandages were removed. 

And Gilda - yes, he would have liked her support, but she was the very last person he wanted to see this moment. To see him like this. Not until he knew - until he knew exactly how bad it was. 

"Ready?" 

"Yes." 

"Your hand, first." 

Harvey held his left hand up and felt them go to work. There was a snipping sound, and the gauze wrapped around it moved. The cold touch of metal on his skin. Then air, as the bandage fell away. And silence for a few seconds. 

"How is it?" he asked anxiously. 

"Make a fist for me." 

Harvey did as requested, then opened the hand and spread his fingers when instructed. The skin felt tight and stiff. 

"Very good. You've got almost the full range of movement, and it'll improve as you heal completely. No impairment of function, as far as I can tell." 

"My face, Doctor." 

"Yes. Just hold still." 

More snipping. Gentle tugging, as the layers next to his skin were unwrapped. Harvey marveled at how good it was just to feel the air on his face. He could see the light, now, as more bandaging was removed, as the moment came closer... 

And then he was staring up at two unfamiliar faces. Brenda, older than he had pictured her, an angular face, sharp eyes examining him closely. Dr. Morgan was a middle-aged man, plump, wearing an absent smile as he peered through thick glasses. Harvey searched their expressions for some reaction. 

"Well? How bad is it?" 

"The healing is progressing nicely. The scarring will diminish somewhat with time, but we need to investigate plastic surgery. I can refer you-" 

Harvey wasn't listening. He was staring at his left hand, the skin reddened and shiny, covered with lumpy, bright pink patches of fresh scar tissue. "I want a mirror," he said softly. 

"All right." Brenda took a step away, and returned with a hand mirror. She hesitated, looking at the doctor. Dr. Morgan glanced at her, and then back at Harvey. "I'm afraid this will be a shock. Remember, there are still options for you. Skin grafting and scar removal may still make a significant difference." 

"Give me the mirror." 

Dr. Morgan nodded. Brenda held it out. Harvey took it in a hand that trembled slightly. Held it up. Took a moment to find the right angle. Another moment to realize the creature he was seeing was himself. 

And took his first good look at the horror he had become.

* * *

TBC... 


	2. Return

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Return

* * *

It was a mostly quiet drive. Bruce glanced over at Harvey only a couple of times, to find him with his head turned away, at just the right angle that neither Bruce nor people outside could get a good look at the left side of his face. Not that very much was visible, anyway, there was still bandaging over most of the damage. Remarkably, the right side was unharmed. In profile, from that side, he seemed the same as ever. Except on the inside; this depressed and silent man was not the Harvey Dent he remembered. 

"I still think Gilda should be here," Bruce said. 

"No. I don't want her to see me. Not yet." 

"She's your fiancée. She's going to have to see, sooner or later. Not to mention she loves you and she wants to help you." 

"I just can't face it right now." 

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. And you can get plastic surgery; the doctor told me." 

"It won't make me look normal again. I'll always be a freak." 

"Don't say that. You're still the same person as before." 

"Am I?" Harvey's voice was soft, and distant. "How much of what we are depends on what we look like? How much of how other people see us? When you see a pretty woman and an ugly one, which do you notice? Which do you assume is nicer, which one do you want to get to know better?" 

"Well - but, that's with strangers - we're talking about Gilda." 

"Yes. Gilda. She's an artist, Bruce. A sculptress. She creates beautiful things. She worships beauty... And now I've become... hideous." 

"I'm sure she's not that superficial." 

"And work... All those people. The courtrooms, the trials, everyone staring at me. The news cameras, the whole city full of people who can't wait to see what a monster I've become!" 

"It won't be like that. You're building all of this up in your mind." 

"What am I going to do?" The hopelessness in his voice was heartbreaking. 

To Bruce's relief, the turn into Harvey's driveway was coming into sight. "You're going to go home. Relax. Get your strength back," he said. "Everything will look better soon, and you can start to get back to normal." 

In a few more minutes they were at the door. Bruce watched Harvey unlock it, for the moment seeing only the right side of his face, still as handsome as ever. Such a strange feeling, knowing the other side was now different, as if his old friend had been divided in two. And he still had no idea how bad it really was under the bandage; Harvey had refused to let him see. 

"Thanks for the ride," Harvey said, reaching for the suitcase Bruce was holding, his face still turned to hide the left side. 

"I should come in, make sure you get settled okay..." 

"I'm fine. Don't want to take up any more of your time." 

"It's no trouble." 

"I'd rather be alone right now." 

"I really think-" 

"How many times do I have to say it?" Harvey was shouting, the good right side of his face distorted with a fury so sudden and intense that Bruce fell back a step. "Leave me alone!" 

The door was slamming behind him a moment later. Bruce stood irresolutely, wondering whether to ring the bell, to insist on going in, or to respect Harvey's wishes and leave. Finally he headed back to his car, casting a last glance at the house before he got in, wishing there was something - anything - he could do. But for once Bruce Wayne's money and Batman's skills were powerless. Ultimately, the only one who could help Harvey now was Harvey himself. 

* * *

Normal. Everything would get back to normal. That was what Bruce had said, wasn't it? So here he was, in his normal house, wondering about all the normal things, like how the hell he was going to go to the store without everyone staring at him, pointing, whispering...

But he might have known; someone - probably Gilda - had stocked his kitchen in preparation for his return. No need to go out, at least not yet. Harvey breathed a sigh of relief. But he also felt a pang of guilt. Gilda... she must have been hurt when he had refused to let her bring him home. And before that, when he had found excuse after excuse to keep her from visiting him. She had done so much, tried so hard... made sure his house was clean, gone shopping for him... he didn't want to seem ungrateful. 

But there was no way he could face her. No way he could face any of them. They'd all be like Bruce: smiling, sympathizing, telling him everything would be all right, hiding their disgust, telling him it didn't matter, that nothing had changed, that he hadn't become a twisted, monstrous travesty of a human being, a creature no one would ever want or love again... 

* * *

"Good afternoon, sir." Alfred stepped aside and held the door, his face at its most formal.

"Hey, Alf. What's up?" Dick grinned at him, and watched his eyes warm and the corner of his mouth twitch. 

"Beyond the fact that you are late, as usual, for your lessons, I am unaware of anything being 'up', sir." 

Dick smiled again. It had become a minor ritual between them; he knew perfectly well that Alfred was far from the subservient and very proper English butler he liked to pretend to be. In fact, he seemed to enjoy an occasional teasing, and responded by becoming even more stuffy and correct. He had been an actor at one time, after all, and now he was still playing a role. 

"Man, I wish you'd stop calling me 'sir'." 

"I shall endeavor to do so, Master Grayson." 

"Oh, come on. 'Master Grayson' makes me sound about a hundred years old." 

"Actually, 'master' is used to address young male persons of quality." 

"Why can't you just call me by my first name?" 

"Very well, Master Di-" 

"Never mind! Go back to 'sir'. Is Bruce downstairs?" 

"Yes, he is undoubtedly awaiting your overdue arrival." 

"Did he say anything? You know, about Harvey Dent?" 

Alfred's expression changed, becoming both softer and more serious. "Only that he took Mr. Dent home, and left him there. From the sound of it, things did not go well." 

"Shit." 

"Indeed. Go on, Mr. Wayne is expecting you." 

"'Kay. Thanks, Alf." 

He could hear Bruce before he saw him: a soft grunt of effort, the clank of metal on metal. He was in the weights area of the large, expensively equipped private gymnasium in the lower level of the Wayne house, on his back, doing bench presses with the fierce concentration Dick had learned to expect from him. But today, there seemed to be an added edge to his attitude. Frustration, perhaps. 

As he watched, Bruce finished his set, heaved the bar back onto the bench stand, and turned his head. "You're late," he said. 

"Sorry." 

"We'd better get started. I'll do the warm-ups with you; it'll let me cool down." 

Dick smiled. Typical that Bruce would consider a martial arts lesson with him only a light workout. Obediently, he moved onto the mat which was spread out in the middle of the room for them, and copied Bruce's position as they began the graceful movements which would both loosen their muscles and focus their minds. 

* * *

Harvey was pacing when the phone rang. Didn't seem like there was anything he wanted to do except pace. No television. It was full of normal-looking people worrying about their stupidly normal problems. The radio was just irritating with its parade of empty-headed love songs. He couldn't sit still long enough to read a book. And he couldn't go out. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The phone... He hesitated, but finally picked it up. "Hello?" he mumbled. 

_"Harvey?"_

"Yes." Thank God, it wasn't Gilda. "Kathy." Kathy Kane, one of his and Gilda's friends, and one of Bruce's many ex-girlfriends. Someone whose company he usually enjoyed - but now she was only an annoyance. 

_"You're home."_

"Yes." Obviously. 

_"How - how are you? How are you feeling?"_

"Great. Good to be home." 

_"Do you need anything?"_

"No. Gilda must have gotten everything ready for me." As soon as the words were out, he could have kicked himself for giving Kathy an opening. 

_"Gilda's worried about you, Harvey. You wouldn't let her visit, or take you home... She wants to see you."_

"Did she ask you to call?" 

_"No, that was my idea. I'd like to see you, too."_

"No!" 

_"Harvey, please..."_

"No! I don't want to see anyone! Just - just stay away. And tell Gilda to stay away!" 

_"But Gilda's your fiancée, she loves you..."_

"I said _no_!" He slammed the phone down, cutting off whatever protest she was making, and backed away, staring at it. They wouldn't stop, would they? They wouldn't listen, wouldn't leave him alone. He felt a surge of panic, and fought it down. No more answering the phone. No answering the door. Just pretend he wasn't here. Sooner or later, they'd all go away... 

* * *

"Block me!"

"I'm trying! You're too strong!" Dick glared at him from flat on his back on the mat, where Bruce had put him. Again. 

"Strength isn't important. You need better control. Come on, we'll try it again." 

"We've done it a hundred times..." he muttered resentfully as he climbed to his feet. 

"We've done it fourteen times. And now we're doing it for the fifteenth time. Concentrate. We'll go through it slowly." He took up his position, and snapped a punch at Dick's throat, not slowly at all. Instinctively, Dick brought up an arm to block, wincing as the blow connected with his shoulder. This time Bruce held back enough that he was only staggered. 

"Your arm's at the wrong angle. Here." Bruce demonstrated, and then led him through it, adjusting his position. "Put your weight on the balls of your feet, you're too far back for quick movement... and shift your body. That's better. See?" 

The punch came again, hard, but this time Dick both deflected it and twisted out of the way. Bruce stumbled slightly as his fist shot into empty air. Automatically, Dick hooked a foot around his ankle, jabbed an elbow into his back, and to his own surprise saw Bruce fall onto the mat with a thump. 

"Sorry," he said, satisfaction warring with guilt. "Guess I wasn't supposed to do that." 

Bruce rolled onto his back and peered up at him. "That's exactly what you were supposed to do. Take your enemy down, any way you can. Nice work." He got to his feet with a fluid motion. "I think that's enough for today." He straightened and took a deep, slow breath before beginning their routine of stretches. 

Dick followed his lead in silence for a few minutes. He had found this was the best time for conversation with his mentor, after a training session. If it had gone well, Bruce would be relaxed and more open than usual. He wasn't an easy man to get to know, perhaps the result of years spend hiding his secrets from even his closest friends. But he was trying, Dick could sense that. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he needed someone who shared the same mission, just as Dick had found he needed someone. They were from very different backgrounds, had quite different personalities, and had led separate lives until their other identities had brought them together; and yet on some deeper level they had bonded quickly, finding in each other something that had been missing for both of them. 

"I saw Kathy last night," he said. "I mean Batwoman." 

"What happened?" 

"Just ran into each other." He grinned. "She said to tell you hello." 

"Hmm. Still wish she'd give it up. But she's got determination, I'll give her that. I'll be seeing her myself this weekend, as Bruce." 

"Don't tell me, another party." 

"A benefit Gordon's giving for a police charity. He does it every year." Bruce's eyes drifted away, the smile that had come to his face fading. Dick could easily guess what was going through his mind. 

So - might as well talk about it. "How'd it go today with Harvey?" he asked after a moment. 

"Okay, I guess." Bruce glanced up when there was no response. "Well, lousy, actually. He wouldn't let me into the house. Just thanked me for the ride and slammed the door in my face." His voice was bitter. 

"He's not taking it well." 

"Understatement." 

"Can't blame him. His whole life has changed, practically overnight. He must be going through hell." 

"Doesn't have to be that way. A few scars don't make him a different person. He's got to get over this, get on with his life." 

"Just suck it up, concentrate, and move on, huh? Maybe it's not so simple for him." 

"Harvey's a strong person. He can do it. _If_ he tries." There was subtle thread of annoyance in Bruce's voice now. 

But Dick said it anyway. "You think all anyone has to do is try harder, but that's not always the way it works. Some problems can't be fixed by - by will power." 

"Only for people who don't have it." 

"Yeah, whatever. What are you going to do?" 

"What _can_ I do? If he wants help, I'm here. If he doesn't, I can't force him." Finished, Bruce started towards the bathroom and shower, pulling his sweat-damp t-shirt over his head. 

They said little during the process of showers and dressing, only what was necessary. Dick watched the distant mask of Bruce's face, wondering, not for the first time, what kind of loss and isolation had put it there. They hadn't talked much about Bruce's past, beyond the central tragedy of his parents' deaths. He had gotten past the outer walls, further than most people, but Bruce still had plenty of defenses... inwardly, he smiled at the image. 

Yes, Bruce could be distant, unreachable, sometimes even cold, but... he certainly had his good points. Like all the things he'd done to help Dick out, not only by training him for his role as Nightwing but also by giving him a job at Wayne Enterprises that he wasn't really qualified for. All the more reason to work hard, show that he was grateful. And maybe that gratitude, along with an admiration he had to admit was close to hero-worship, was why he increasingly found himself thinking of Bruce as a father, or maybe a big brother, although he would never embarrass them both by saying so. 

"Tomorrow?" 

Dick looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Sure." 

"Don't be late." Bruce had already turned his attention to something else, and was sitting at the computer, waiting for it to come to life. 

"Bruce?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I'm sorry about your friend. I know you guys are tight. You must be worried." 

There was an almost surprised look on Bruce's face as he turned his head. It quickly melted into a genuine and warm smile. "Thanks, Dick." 

"Well, see you tomorrow." 

"Why don't you come with me Saturday?" 

"Huh?" 

Bruce was watching him when he turned back, the smile still there. "Come to the party. Commissioner Gordon will be there. Might be a good idea for you to meet him." 

"I dunno... I'm not exactly part of that crowd." 

"They're just people. You might even have a good time." 

Dick hesitated another moment, but there was no way he would turn down an invitation from Bruce, not when it meant their relationship was turning into a real friendship. "Do I have to dress up?" he asked. 

* * *

It was her. He could see her car from the kitchen window. Could hear her voice faintly when she called. Gilda... Harvey felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. So loyal, so loving. But how long would that love and loyalty last when she saw? Don't answer. Don't answer... but she had the key. He listened to the lock turn, and to the door opening. Her voice came again, louder.

"Harvey? Harvey, where are you?" 

He retreated, through the kitchen, into the hallway. The light tap of her footsteps pursued him. He moved faster, doubling back through the living room, past the door to his bedroom where they would never make love again, to the very back of the house. Through the door into the studio... 

And he jolted to a stop, heart thudding, at the sight that greeted him there. He was face to face with himself. The bust Gilda had done of him, soon after they became engaged, stood proudly on a pedestal in the center of the room where the sun coming through the skylight caught it in a golden halo... At the time he had admired it so much; it was so lifelike, capturing not only the straight, strong lines of his face but something of his spirit, or so he had thought in his pride and vanity. Now it mocked him with the image of his own former perfection, the two sides of his face pure and clean as it stared at him with a superior contempt. 

"Harvey? Harvey, there you are... What's wrong?" 

He turned. Gilda had found him, caught him. No point in running, anyway, not when he knew she wouldn't give up. Had to face the inevitable, sooner or later, and it might as well be now. "Yes. It's me." 

"You - how are you? You look - you look..." 

"Go on, tell me how I look." 

"You look fine." 

"_Fine?_" He laughed, a sound as twisted as the scarred side of his face. "I look fine. But of course, you haven't really seen." 

"No, I haven't..." She looked frightened now. Afraid of the truth. Afraid of _him_. That hurt... and yet he found a strange and surprising pleasure in it. 

"Want to see, Gilda?" he asked softly. "Do you really want to see?" 

"Yes..." But there was only fear in her voice, spurring him on. 

"Here! Look!" With a swift, convulsive movement, he yanked the bandage off, hardly feeling pain as the tape pulled from his healing skin. "Look... a face divided between beauty and ugliness, between good and evil... What do you think of me? Do I look _fine_ to you?" 

Gilda cringed back as he stepped closer, her mouth opening in a square of shock and revulsion, her eyes wide and round, only an incoherent sound escaping her throat. 

Harvey grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Why don't you just say it, dammit? I look like a monster!" 

"No! No, I can't stand it!" She twisted out of his hands, turning her head and closing her eyes. 

"Yes, you turn away from me now. You can't stand to look at me! Admit it!" 

"Harvey, please don't..." He could see the tears in her eyes as they lifted to him, and felt a pang of guilt, felt the urge to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears... but then he saw it; she couldn't quite keep that expression of horrified revulsion from her face, before she looked away quickly. 

The statue caught his attention again as he stepped back. The statue that no longer looked like him, that was no longer his true face... Rage, fear, pain, and despair seemed like a breaking wave inside him as he grabbed up a smaller piece Gilda had given him, an iron figure of a standing man. 

"You don't look right anymore," he growled, raising the statuette. "But I can fix that!" He was only dimly aware of Gilda's cry of fear and horror, of her running steps, leaving him as he had known she would, as he slashed at the left side of that clay image of himself until it was as broken and distorted as the reality of his own flesh.

* * *

TBC... 


	3. Double Vision

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

****

* * *

Double Vision

* * *

_"Why won't you look, Harvey?"_

It had started with a whisper. Just the hint of a voice as Harvey paced through the hallways and rooms of his house, past curtained windows and covered mirrors. At first he passed it off as an echo, a thought he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, a waking dream. But deep down he knew it wasn't. 

_"Everyone turned away, Harvey. But you can't, can you?"_

"You're not real. I'm not listening." 

_"I'm as real as you. As real as that coin you're holding..."_

The coin. Harvey looked down at it, gleaming silver in his uninjured right hand. The coin. Why had he taken it? He couldn't help it, it had just happened... Yesterday, his first day back in the real world. His first attempt to recover his old life... 

At first he had tried to pretend it was just an ordinary day, like before. He had gotten up in the morning, showered, shaved - a strange process without a mirror - gotten dressed, combed his hair, straightened his tie. The same routine he had gone through thousands of times, except for the extra added attraction of making sure the bandage over the worst part of the left side of his face was secure. He could almost convince himself nothing had really changed - as long as no one saw him. 

It had started as soon as he got out of his car in the courthouse parking lot. A couple passing by had stared, then quickly looked away when he glanced at them. The people on the sidewalk: startled looks, averted eyes. The guard at the entrance. The familiar faces he passed in the hallway. All of them the same. Horror, pity, disgust; the air was thick with it. 

_"Harvey? How are you?" _

"How are you feeling?" 

"Nice to have you back..." 

"How are you doing?" 

Polite words. But he could almost hear the unspoken thoughts, like a soft murmur of whispers trailing behind him. 

_'How horrible...' _

'My God, just look at him...' 

'I wonder what's under that bandage...' 

'Thank God it wasn't me...' 

Harvey had closed his office door - had to be careful not to slam it, had to act normal, of course - and leaned against it, shuddering. Stay calm, just ignore it, concentrate on work, that would distract him. But just as he had been staring uncomprehendingly at a case file, the phone had rung. 

_"Harvey? Glad to see you're back at work." _

"Bruce." 

"Yes. How are you feeling?" 

"Great." 

"Glad you're better... Listen, Jim Gordon's benefit is tomorrow... Will you be there?" 

"No." 

"Too bad, we'd all like to see you." 

"No, you wouldn't." 

"That's not true." 

"Maybe next time you have a costume party. Maybe next Halloween. I can come as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." 

"Harvey, don't do this to yourself..." 

"I don't remember doing anything to myself." 

He had just stared at the wall after hanging up. Life goes on. But how could his life go on like this? Be like Bruce, pretend everything was okay, that everything would go back to normal? But it wasn't normal. 

There had been more stares, more whispers as he left the building a few hours later. Startled looks, quickly hidden, as he entered the central police stationhouse. Something had drawn him here, morbid curiosity maybe. Whatever it was, it led him to the evidence storage rooms. 

_"The Moroni trial evidence. I want to see it." _

"Why? That case is closed." 

"Just give it to me." 

He had sat with it for a long time. Witness's statements, CSI reports, fingerprints, police interview notes... The tools of his trade, the remnants of a life that was gone now. How could he run for another term as district attorney, looking like this? And he could never be a trial lawyer again. Could never appear in front of a jury. The news cameras would be eager to film him, for a while, but only as a freak, only as an object of pity and horror. His lips twisted into a smile. Maybe he could still question suspects; he'd scare a confession out of them. 

It had been a good case. No question that Moroni was guilty. No second thoughts. It would have built his reputation, made him famous. Instead it had destroyed him. Moroni was in jail, but that victory had come at too high a price. 

Moroni's lucky coin had caught his eye as he stuffed plastic evidence bags back into their boxes. His double-headed coin. Two faces, just as his face was now split in two, only both of its sides were identical: smooth and perfect. As his face once had been. The most important piece of physical evidence in the trial... he had been holding it in his hand, just staring at it numbly... 

_"I'm sorry, Mr. Dent, but you've been here all afternoon... my shift's ending... you'll have to leave..." _

"All right. I'm going." 

They just wanted him gone, of course. He had stood outside on the sidewalk, uncertain. Go back to the office? Run the gauntlet of stares and whispers again? Or go home, back to the empty solitude of his house; let them all think he couldn't take it, and maybe they were right. As he put his hands in his pockets, he had felt it, and pulled it out, silver catching the fading sunlight. The coin. He had taken it without thinking. Now he had to take it back. They'd all think he was crazy, as well as hideous, and maybe they were right about that, too... 

A small child passing on the street had stopped, pointed a finger at him, hid behind its mother's skirt, and begun to cry. Harvey had turned his face away and hurried back to his car. 

* * *

Bruce threw a final look at the mirror, running a practiced eye over himself. The suit looked perfect, just as all his suits did, all the products of a very expensive tailor. His hair was in place, his face held its usual party-going expression: pleasant and perhaps just a trifle bored.

"Allow me, sir." Alfred stepped in front of him and made some minuscule and unnecessary adjustment to his tie. Bruce smiled at the slightly balding crown of his bent head. If it made Alfred happy to fuss over him, so be it. "There," the butler finally said. "That's better." 

"Thanks. Any sign of Dick yet?" 

"Mr. Grayson is undoubtedly still getting dressed. I assume he's not accustomed to attending this sort of event." 

"You assume right. Maybe I shouldn't have invited him." 

"Why not? He's a personable enough young man." 

Bruce smiled. "Very personable. I just hope he doesn't feel uncomfortable." 

"You will have to make sure that he doesn't, won't you?" 

"Hmm? What do you mean?" 

"Mr. Grayson is your guest. You are responsible for him. Make sure he's introduced, that he has someone to talk to. That sort of thing." 

And make sure none of the society bluebloods snubbed him, although Alfred would never say such a thing. "I guess you're right," Bruce sighed, and resigned himself to keeping an eye on his young friend. Not that Dick was exactly shy or tongue-tied, or couldn't take care of himself, but he would probably feel out of place. 

_I've become a mentor._ The thought made him smile, even if it made him slightly uneasy. Dick was in fact his protégé, certainly as Nightwing, but it was also true at Wayne Enterprises, where Bruce had persuaded him to take a job which would support him and leave him with enough spare time for training. That hadn't been easy; Dick had a lot of pride, and obviously felt that he was taking charity. That was why he was working so hard, both at his day job and as Nightwing. About time he had a night out, relaxed a little. 

* * *

Night again. So quiet and lonely in this house. The phone didn't ring. Why would anyone call, after all? Yes, he'd been rude to them all, but still... Harvey walked from kitchen to living room to dining room to bedroom. Not the study, with its scarred statue of himself standing proud and barren in the moonlight. The bedroom... He opened the closet and recoiled at the flash of a reflection in the mirror he had forgotten was inside the door.

_"Afraid, Harvey?"_

"No. Not afraid." 

_"Then why don't you look?"_

"That's not me. It can't be. Why should I look?" 

His suits, lined up inside, the suits of a man who had been going places. Who had known people, important people. The suits of a successful man. 

_"There's a party tonight, Harvey. Why aren't you going?"_

"I can't. Not like this." 

_"They're all getting ready. Getting dressed. Bruce, Kathy. They've forgotten about you, Harvey."_

"No! They just - they just know I want to be left alone." 

_"What about Gilda, Harvey? She'll be there too... She's probably putting on one of her prettiest dresses - maybe the little black one, the one you like - she's getting made up, putting on jewelry - she's ready to move on, Harvey, and meet someone new."_

"Gilda loves me..." 

_"Not anymore, Harvey. How could she love a creature like you?"_

"No! Who are you? Where are you? Why are you doing this to me?" 

_"Don't you know? I'm you, Harvey. Your other side, your ugly side. Did you know the word sinister means left, Harvey? The left side. The sinister side."_

"You're not me! Never!" 

_"You can't deny it, Harvey. You have no way to escape me."_

"No! No!" He ran, from bedroom to living room to kitchen to bathroom. But the mocking echo of laughter followed... 

* * *

"How do I look?"

Bruce smiled. It was the fifth time Dick had asked since he had arrived ten minutes ago. "You look great. Come on, let's get going." 

"Just one moment, sir... just to make sure." Alfred moved in, fingers expertly patting Dick's tie into perfect alignment and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle in his jacket. "There. May I say you look unexceptionable." 

Dick gave him a face that made Bruce chuckle. "I hope that's good." 

"That is quite good, sir. You will undoubtedly impress all the young ladies present." 

"Think so?" Dick grinned. "Not that I have the time or the money for girls... but you think so?" 

"Yeah, you'll charm the pants off them. Now can we go?" Bruce smiled again as the grin was turned on him. It occurred to him that it was true; Dick looked quite handsome. The suit wasn't of the best quality, of course - Bruce would have been glad to buy him one, but was sure the offer would have been indignantly refused - but it fit well enough, and he had the looks to make it unimportant. 

"Speaking of girls, is Kathy going to be there?" Dick asked as the door clicked shut behind them and they started for the garage. 

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Bruce shot him a sharp glance. 

"She'll be the only other person who I already know." Dick met his eyes with a twinkle in his own. "Don't worry, I know she's all yours." 

"Well. I didn't mean it that way. And besides, she's free to see whoever she wants. None of my business anymore." 

"Uh huh." Bruce was tempted to argue with the skeptical expression on Dick's face, but decided that might only prove the younger man's point. 

* * *

__

_"Look at you. You're not a man. You're half a man."_

Look... Harvey was in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He had taped paper over the mirror, but now... His hand raised. The left hand, the sinister hand, the hand which was no longer his. It ripped the paper away, until he was forced to see. That mirror which had once been his friend, had once shown him his own handsome face... Now it framed a stranger, a hideous half-creature. 

His rebellious left hand rose again - to the left side of his face, clutched at the bandaging, and pulled. It peeled off with a tearing sound. He felt pain distantly. But how? That wasn't his face. He had never possessed the knots of misshapen, discolored flesh that were now revealed, that stark and barren moonscape that covered the left side of that alien reflection. No, that wasn't him, never could be. It was impossible. 

_"Divided between beauty and ugliness... between good and evil..."_

Himself... half of himself... half was some horrible monster grafted onto his body... Harvey raised his right hand, clawing at his face, trying to rip away that distorted _thing_... 

_"Don't try to get rid of me, Harvey. I'm you... Half man, half monster. Half light, half dark. Half human, half beast."_

"No!" 

_"Face it! Accept it! Embrace it!"_

"Nooooo!" 

* * *

They were quiet for most of the drive to Jim Gordon's house. Dick was nervous, judging by his body language and the fact that he had asked how late they had to stay. For his part, Bruce was glad enough not to make conversation, he had his own thoughts to keep him occupied.

The mention of Kathy had unexpectedly depressed him. Not Kathy herself; he was looking forward to seeing her tonight. Their friendship had taken another turn, or at least he hoped it had. Perhaps it could deepen again into something more. She seemed to have forgiven him for getting involved with Selina, and in fact she had gone out of her way lately to see him... at least it seemed that way, if it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part. 

But the thought of Kathy led to the thought of Selina. Back in jail again, despite his efforts to reform her. A stupid plan, he should have listened to Alfred and Dick at the time; of course using her love for him hadn't worked, not when he didn't return the emotion. And yet he had felt something for her, something that had made him ignore all reason and judgment, and take advantage of that one chance to be close to her. And he still felt something, although he had no real certainty of what it was. Not that it mattered; he had tried to visit her in prison, and she had refused to see him. 

And of course, Kathy brought another person to mind. The three of them might have gone to the party together tonight, but Kathy had wanted to go with Gilda, to make sure she was all right, and to make sure she didn't change her mind and stay home. Gilda had been miserable since her one disastrous attempt to see Harvey, it had been clear in her voice the couple of times Bruce had called her, and Kathy thought it would do her good to get out and see some of her friends. 

And Harvey himself. All alone in that house. He answered the phone; he had gone to work; he must be recovering, just handling the stress in his own way. But he had changed, and not just on the outside. Natural enough under the circumstances; what Dick had said was true; Harvey's whole life had been changed. 

For a moment, Bruce felt a chill of uneasiness. What if Harvey never got over it? What if the friend he had known for so many years was simply gone? What if he couldn't adjust, what if he couldn't take it, what if he did something desperate... 

Nothing that could be done about it tonight. Bruce smiled reassuringly at Dick as they pulled into the driveway leading to Gordon's house. Tonight he would concentrate on Kathy, and on Dick, and on poor Gilda. Maybe he could find a few minutes to call Harvey... if not tonight, definitely tomorrow... 

* * *

__

_"Life goes on. All of their lives are going on. Without you."_

"It's true. My friends. All of them have their nice normal little lives. Their nice normal faces. People don't stare at them, and whisper about them. Children don't scream at the sight of them." 

_"They're all having a good time tonight. They're glad you're not there."_

"They can't stand to look at me anymore." 

_"They don't know what it's like..."_

"They have no idea..." 

_"And Gilda..."_

"She's there, looking pretty, talking, laughing..." 

_"Still wearing your ring..."_

"She has no right!" 

_"She's already forgotten..."_

"But I'll show her." 

_"You can show all of them."_

"Yes, show all of them. I'll show all of them." 

_"You're ready, Harvey."_

"I'm not ashamed anymore. Let them see me. All of me, both of me! I'll give them something to scream about!" 

_"Good, Harvey, good!"_

"Not Harvey. Not anymore. There's two of me now, and only half was Harvey." 

_"Who are you now?"_

"Who am I?" 

He looked down again, at the coin that had at been the start of it all. That bright, shiny silver dollar, its two faces clear and perfect. Two faces, just like his was now, but it wasn't quite right... In a moment he was in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers until he had a small paring knife gripped in his left hand. 

The joy he felt as he jabbed at the coin surprised him, the relief, the glee as ragged scratches crisscrossed one face of the coin, making it as ugly and disfigured as the left side of his own face. He grinned savagely. "Who am I? Who else? Two-Face!" 

* * *

TBC... 


	4. Party Time

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

****

* * *

Party Time

* * *

The party was already in full swing when they arrived. Bruce scanned the room as he handed his coat to one of the staff Gordon had hired for the evening, instantly picking out Kathy and Gilda in close conversation against the far wall, Jim Gordon talking to a few other high-ranking officials near the buffet, several more of his society friends and police acquaintances. A nice crowd, catering to both sides of his life - the playboy millionaire and the crime-fighter.

Dick was at his elbow, looking around with a decidedly self-conscious expression on his face. "Look, there's Kathy," he said. 

"I know. Let's say hello." After a step, Bruce held him back with a touch. "The woman with her is Harvey Dent's fiancée. Just so you know." 

"I understand." 

It ended up taking longer than he thought to make their way across the crowded room, as Bruce stopped several times to say hello, to introduce Dick, and to exchange a few polite remarks. As they approached, Kathy was waiting, watching them, a smile on her face. 

"Hi, I see you made it," she said. "And I see you've already gotten a sample of Gotham society, Dick." 

"Yeah. I feel like I've just been thrown into the pool. Sink or swim." 

"I hope you remember everyone's name. There'll be a quiz later." 

"I'll flunk for sure." 

"Hello, Gilda, how are you?" Bruce asked. The question felt awkward, asked of a woman who looked exhausted, unhappy, and whose makeup didn't quite cover reddened, puffy eyes. 

"Fine," she said, with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Kathy put an arm around her. 

"Gilda, this is Dick Grayson," Bruce went on. "Dick, Gilda Grace." 

"Hi." Dick smiled as they shook hands. "I don't know many people here in Gotham yet, so I'm really glad to meet you." 

She smiled perfunctorily again. "How long have you been here?" 

"About two years. But you know what the big city's like. Hard to make friends." He glanced at Bruce with a brief smile. Dick had made friends before, all right, friends with the mobsters and thieves he had been forced to associate with when he infiltrated Anthony Zucco's gang in an attempt to find justice for his parents' murders. An attempt which had succeeded, thanks only in part to Batman's help. "So I've been looking forward to this. Seems like a nice bunch of people." 

"They are." 

"I guess you know everyone here. Maybe you could tell me all their names again, and something about them. I'm kinda lost..." 

"Well, I don't know _everyone_... let's see..." 

Kathy drew Bruce slightly away and smiled up at him. When she spoke, it was very softly, so only he would hear. "Your friend's a fast worker," she murmured. 

"What do you mean?" 

"In less than a minute he's distracted Gilda and gotten her talking, and thinking, about something besides Harvey. Watch out, he'll take away your title as the most charming bachelor in Gotham." 

"I'm not worried. How have you been?" 

"Mmm, keeping busy... you?" 

He shrugged. "The same." He moved a little closer, enough to catch a faint and subtle whiff of perfume. "How's Gilda holding up?" he asked. 

"Not too well." The note of teasing was gone from Kathy's voice. "Bruce... have you talked to Harvey in the last couple of days?" 

"Yes. I heard he was back at work, called him there yesterday." 

"How did he sound to you?" 

"Well... he's depressed, I guess. I asked him to come tonight, but he... he said no. Why?" 

"I have a bad feeling. The times I called him, he sounded so strange, and he wouldn't talk for more than a minute. Wouldn't let me come over." 

Bruce frowned. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Give him time, he's had a big shock." 

"I know. But most people would be trying to get closer to their friends and family at a time like this, not pushing them away." 

"Maybe." He shifted uncomfortably. 

"Have you thought..." She hesitated. "From what Gilda said about how he acted when she went over there... It didn't sound sane." 

"What are you getting at?" 

"Maybe we should do something. Get him to see a shrink or something." 

"I don't think he'd like that idea, and we can't force him. Look, I'll give him another call tomorrow. But let's not talk about it right now." 

"Whatever." She cut off whatever she might have been about to add as Gilda appeared at her side. 

"Kath, I'm heading for the ladies' room." 

"Okay, I'm coming. See you guys in a few." With the flash of a quick, over-bright smile, she was walking away, her head bent close to Gilda's. 

"I wonder why women always go to the can in groups?" Dick asked, watching them wind their way across the room. "Some kind of primal instinct?" 

Bruce snorted. "I think they just like to talk in there." 

"About what?" 

"Us, probably." Dick laughed, a sound which quickly faded. Bruce looked up to find him staring intently into the crowd. "What is it?" he asked. 

"Who's _that_?" 

Bruce followed his gaze, and then relaxed with a chuckle as he realized what - or rather who - Dick was staring at so raptly. She did catch the eye, he had to admit, with gleaming, shoulder-length red hair, a pretty, bright-eyed face, and a trim figure. He might have been interested himself, if she was a little older and not the daughter of a friend... 

"_That_ is Barbara Gordon," he answered. "She's been away at college, just came back for good a few weeks ago. First time I've seen her in two or three years. She's all grown up." 

"I'll say..." Dick suddenly glanced up at him with a look of dismay. "You mean Commissioner Gordon is her old man?" 

"He's her father, yes. But don't worry..." Bruce gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. "He _probably_ won't have you arrested for thinking his daughter's pretty." 

"Oh, great, that's a relief." 

"He'll just have you shot if you touch her. Come on, I'll introduce you." 

Barbara was at her father's side by the time they got close, sipping a drink and looking around with a hint of nervousness. She had been living out of town for the last four years, Bruce reminded himself. Outside of a few old friends, she probably didn't know many people here tonight, and almost certainly wasn't dating anyone. All the better for Dick; it was about time he had a social life beyond Bruce, Alfred, and assorted members of Gotham's underworld. 

"Jim," he greeted Gordon. "Great party." 

"Glad you're enjoying it. And always nice to see you." Gordon offered him a firm handshake. "You remember Barbara, don't you?" 

"Little Babs. Not so little anymore." 

Barbara tilted her head with a surprisingly impish grin. "And I remember you, _Uncle_ Bruce." 

"Hmmm. Anyway, this is Dick Grayson, my new assistant at Wayne Enterprises. Dick, James Gordon and Barbara Gordon." 

"I've seen you on the news, Commissioner Gordon. It's an honor," Dick said as they shook hands, and then transferred his attention to Barbara. "And... uh... it's a pleasure." 

"Me, too." Their eyes met, and locked. First Barbara smiled, and then Dick. 

Bruce hid his own smile as Gordon glanced up at him and raised a brow. "C'mon, Jim, I'll buy you a drink," he said. 

"College. Boyfriends. Before I know it, she'll be married and I'll be a grandfather," Gordon was muttering a few minutes later, as they watched Dick and Barbara still deep in conversation. 

"Feeling old?" 

"Bet your ass. Who is this kid, anyway? What's he like? Is he - umm...?" 

"Good enough for Barbara? I've known him for several months now. His parents died years ago, he grew up with no family and no money, worked hard, made something of himself. He's only been able to afford a couple of college courses here and there, but he's bright, and I'm trying to encourage him to go back. He's got a good job now, and - well - he's a good kid. I like him." 

After a penetrating look at Bruce's face, all Gordon said was, "I guess that's good enough for me. How are you and Kathy doing?" 

Taken momentarily off-guard by the change in subject, Bruce shrugged and raised his glass to hide his reaction, even as his eyes raised reflexively to scan the crowd for her. "We're still friends, if that's what you mean." Kathy was emerging from a door at the far side, Gilda beside her. They stopped, looking in the direction of the front entrance. 

"Glad to hear it, but that's not what I meant. A blind man could see you two are still crazy about each other. At least, she is. It's harder to tell with you." 

"I'm not the one who walked out." It came out more bitter than he had intended. Still watching Kathy, Bruce noticed a few other people looking in the same direction. A hush seemed to be falling over the crowd. 

"When you're my age, my boy, you'll realize that the great secret of dealing with women is to realize they're always right... that whatever goes wrong, it's _your_ fault." 

Bruce lowered his glass, staring. People were stepping back, away from the entrance, parting to open a pathway between them. He heard gasps, saw hands pressed to mouths, expressions almost of horror... 

"What the _hell_..." he muttered. Gordon turned to look. 

There was a man walking down that aisle between two walls of shocked faces. He had moved clear of them before Bruce could get a clear look, his head turned so that only the right side of his face was visible, a face so familiar in this setting that he had a momentary wave of déjà vu. Until the man stopped and turned fully towards them. 

"Harvey?" he had been saying, when the word froze in his throat. "Oh, my God," he whispered, unable to stop himself. 

The bandage was gone, and what it had hidden was clearly visible. The left side of Harvey's face was covered in masses of thickened, distorted, obscenely pink scar tissue, as if his skin had melted and been refrozen, the disfigurement doubly shocking in contrast to the still-handsome right side. Bruce swallowed, fighting a surge of nausea. It was only scars, he reminded himself. Only surface. But Harvey's remembered words mocked him as he struggled not to show his reaction... _'How much of what we are depends on what we look like? How much of how other people see us?'_

Harvey caught sight of them. He grinned, an angry and twisted expression which only made him seem more grotesque. "Bruce! How nice to see you looking so good. And Jim. Thanks so much for the invitation. Lovely party. Great food. Hope I don't make anyone lose their appetite." 

"Nice to see you too, Harvey," Bruce managed to say. "Are you - feeling okay?" 

"Never better, Brucie old pal! Haven't felt this way in... well, ever!" He smiled, more quietly and more ominously. "I'm a whole new man." With a humorless laugh he added, "Or two halves of a whole!" 

"Uh - why don't you have a drink, Harvey?" Gordon said, ignoring a warning glance from Bruce. 

"Don't mind if I do. I'll have a Scotch." He leaned on the bar and added with another loud laugh, "Make it a double! Get it? Double!" 

"Harvey, how much have you had to drink already?" Bruce asked. 

"Why, not a thing. You don't think I'd do something as stupid as drive drunk, do you? Not when I'm going to see all my old friends! My buds! My gang! My crew! Just look at all of them!" His voice rose to a shout. "It's like watching a train wreck, isn't it? It makes you sick, but you just can't look away!" 

"Harvey, please..." 

"Let them stare, Jimbo, what else am I here for? Let them stare and thank God they're not me." Harvey's eyes raised and moved over the crowd. "Ah, Barbara. Back from college and looking lovely. Already got a boyfriend? And a good-looking one, of course." A glance showed Dick taking Barbara's arm, frowning, as she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Speaking of lovely, where's my lovely fiancée? Has _she_ found a good-looking boyfriend yet?" 

"I'm here, Harvey." The voice was very faint, and trembled pitifully. Slowly, Gilda emerged from the press of people and came closer, step by step, as if pulled by an invisible string against the force of her obvious fear and distress. Kathy was behind her. 

"Ah, Gilda. Nice dress. Enjoying the party?" 

"Please, let me take you home." 

"Home? Why? We're all having such a good time!" 

"Harvey, you're not well." 

"Whatever do you mean? Why, I'm twice the man I used to be!" He laughed again, the sound of it setting Bruce's hair on end. 

"I just think..." She gulped, her eyes finding Bruce's in a silent plea. 

"Maybe it's a little too soon for this, Harvey," Bruce said quietly. "Gilda's right, we'll take you home." 

"Et tu, Brucie? Okay, tell you what." Harvey dipped a hand in his pocket, brought it out, and opened it to reveal a large silver coin. "I'll flip you for it." 

"What's that?" Gordon asked. 

"My good luck piece. It's part of what made me what I am today. Heads - the good head-" He held it up, showing the smoothly gleaming head of a silver dollar, "-and I go home like a good boy. Heads - the other head-" he turned it, revealing what at first glance was the same image - but now marred by deep, jagged scratches, "-and I get to stay - have fun, get drunk, kiss the girls and make them cry..." 

"That looks like Boss Moroni's lucky coin," Gordon said. 

"It is, Jimbo, it is." Harvey grinned, and with a quick movement tossed it into the air. It spun in an arc, up and then down, catching the light in a glittering trail. 

"That's official police evidence. What's it doing here?" 

"It's mine now. Heads!" Harvey cried happily as the coin smacked into his palm. He held it out. "But not the one all of you want." The scarred side was facing up. 

"Give it to me, Harvey." 

"Give you my coin? I need it more than you do." He turned it in his fingers. "It's like me now... Two faces, handsome and hideous, good and evil, like the two of me..." 

"Look, Harvey..." Gordon glanced around and lowered his voice. "I understand you've been under a strain. Give me the coin, go home quietly, and I won't have you charged with stealing police property." 

"How big of you. If you want to return some stolen property..." Harvey was off the barstool in a flash, reaching to grab Gilda's left arm as she flinched back. "I think this belongs to me. You won't be needing it anymore." He twisted her arm up and grabbed at the engagement ring twinkling on her finger as she cried out in pain and dismay. 

"Let her go!" Gordon, Bruce, Dick, and Kathy all reacted, but Gordon got there first, pulling Harvey off Gilda with a sharp yank. "Get out!" he shouted, pushing him back. 

The fury on Harvey's face was so overwhelming, so bizarre, it held Bruce back for a moment. Maybe it stopped all of them, just long enough. Harvey lashed out, his fist connecting with Gordon's face with a sharp smack. The older man collapsed at his feet. Bruce and Dick both surged forward. And then stopped cold. Bruce stared into the small round blackness at the end of the barrel of the pistol Harvey was holding, raising his hands and stepping back as the gun swept from him to Dick and on around to send a ripple of gasps and smothered screams over the party-goers. 

"So much for friendship!" Harvey snarled. "And so much for love and loyalty!" He glared at Gilda, now sobbing in Kathy's protective grasp. "There's no place for me in your world anymore, but don't worry, I'll find another place. Somewhere so ugly and warped that I'll fit right in!" 

He backed up, holding them back with the pistol, until he reached the French windows opening into the garden in back of the house and vanished through them. Gilda and a couple of other people were already bending over Gordon. Bruce gave Dick a glance, saw him nod slightly, and quickly melted into the press of milling bodies, heading for the front door. 

The night outside seemed dark and quiet after the bright lights and the drama they had left behind. They found a secluded spot amid the trees and changed swiftly, through long practice managing it in less than a minute. And just in time, as they ran into the open Batman caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, the glint of metal in his hand as he headed for a car. Harvey's car. 

"Harvey Dent! Stop right where you are!" 

"Who...?" Several yards away, Harvey stopped and turned. A patch of moonlight caught his distorted face as he backed away, the gun held ready. "Batman? I'm flattered. But I won't let you stop me." 

"Put the gun down." Batman took a step closer. "You're a DA. A lawman. Why are you doing this?" 

"You can ask that? Look what being a lawman has done to me!" 

"It was Moroni who did it." 

"And now I've become like him... or half of me has..." 

"Harvey, stop!" 

But he had turned and was running again. He was almost at the car, no way to stop him in time... as Harvey started to slam the door a dark form darted out of the bushes and yanked at the handle, trying to pull it back open; black and midnight blue in the moonlight as Harvey kicked out, catching him in the chest and knocking him down. Nightwing was back on his feet almost immediately, leaping at the roof of the car as it began to move. He seemed to find a hold, and clung for a few seconds until the car swerved sharply as it picked up speed, sending him flying into a tree trunk. 

"Nightwing!" Batman shouted, and ran to him, seeing him stir and push himself into a sitting position by the time he got there. "Damn it, what were you trying to do, get yourself killed?" Relief sharpened his voice into anger. 

"Sorry. I should have stopped him." 

"Both of us should have stopped him." Batman took a few steps down the driveway, watching the car disappearing as it turned onto the main street. "He'll be on the highway in seconds; no way we can catch him now." 

"Are you all right?" A look back showed Batwoman had arrived, a little late, and was helping Nightwing to his feet. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." But he looked shaken and disappointed. 

"What now?" she asked. "Look for Harvey at home?" 

"The police will look," Batman answered. "But he won't be there. He's too smart to be caught in the obvious places." 

"What can we do to help him?" 

"I don't know." 

She sighed. "Then I guess we should get back to the party. Make sure Gilda and Jim Gordon are okay." Batman shot her a glance, ready to deny he knew what she was talking about, but she was already gone, fading into the trees. 

Nightwing was staring into the darkness. "You know Harvey pretty well," he said. "Where do you think he's gone? What do you think he's going to do?" 

"I don't know. But I have a feeling we'll find out soon." 

* * *

TBC... 


	5. Double Feature

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

=====

Double Feature

=====

_"In another daring robbery, former District Attorney Harvey Dent, along with five accomplices, struck the Doubletree Lane branch of Gotham National Bank late this afternoon, escaping with approximately half a million dollars."_

Dick watched Bruce's face, noticing a muscle tighten in his jaw as the television announcer went on. 

_"This was the latest in a month-long crime spree by one of Gotham's most famous citizens, now one of its most infamous."_

Bruce rose from his seat on the sofa in his study and turned away, hands shoved in his pockets. 

_"Inexplicably, the criminal who has announced that he now calls himself Two-Face has also made a sizable donation to a local children's fund, and returned the loot taken by another gang from an antiquities dealership, among other unexplained good deeds."_

"Turn it off." 

Obediently Dick picked up the remote and used it. Without the sounds of the television the room suddenly seemed very quiet - and very tense, as Bruce paced a few steps away and then stood, shoulders tight. Dick opened his mouth to say something... but what was there to say? How must it feel to know one of your closest friends has thrown his life away - turned against everything he once stood for - and made himself into an enemy? Maybe Bruce wasn't up to going against him... maybe... 

"Doubletree Lane." 

"Huh?" Dick said. 

"The bank he robbed. That antiques shop is called Second Chances. The charity he gave money to, it helps reunite siblings separated by adoption..." 

"Especially twins... I remember." 

"Harvey said something about both of him - or two of him." 

"You think it's a pattern?" 

"I think he's become obsessed with the number two. With doubles, twins, whatever. Yes, it's a pattern, and as long as he follows it, it makes him predictable. And we can use it to our advantage." 

"I hope so. He's smart, and he knows how the cops operate. They haven't done too well against him." 

"No. But he doesn't know how_ I_ operate. I'll get him..." 

Dick watched again as Bruce hunched his shoulders slightly, staring blindly at the floor, and then turned away, head bowed. "Look... maybe I could handle this on my own," he said. 

"Why?" Bruce's face was deliberately blank when he looked up. 

"Because Harvey's your friend, of course. Because this must be hard on you." 

"He's gone to the other side. His choice, and he has to live with the consequences. As far as I'm concerned, he's no different from any other criminal now. All I care about is putting him behind bars." 

Bruce's expression was still controlled and cold, but the way his hands balled into tense fists contradicted it. 

"Whatever you say. But... I don't think we can blame Harvey completely, after what he's gone through. Maybe there's still some way to help him." 

"Have to catch him first..." The harshness of Bruce's face deepened, his eyes shadowing with some unhappy emotion... and then the expression dropped away into that contained mask again. "How's it going with you and Barbara?" he asked. 

Dick blinked at the abrupt change of subject. Apparently the topic of Harvey Dent was closed. "Uh... Okay, I guess." He shrugged. "I don't have much spare time. And she's busy a lot, too, starting a new job and stuff." He brightened a little. "But we're going to a movie tomorrow night." 

Barbara. This would be the third time they had gone out in the last month. He would have liked it to be more often, but things hadn't exactly worked out the way he wanted. It really was hard to find the time, and Barbara didn't seem like she wanted anything more serious. How could he blame her, when he hadn't gone to college, had just started his first real job, and had no money or family? Not to mention how he had to hide so much of his life, and his thoughts, from her. At least she seemed to enjoy his company, and maybe things would be different tomorrow night. 

"How about you and Kathy?" he asked. 

Bruce shrugged, exactly the same way Dick had. "There's no 'me and Kathy,'" he said. 

"Yeah, right. I can see the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her." 

"Maybe I'd like to start seeing her again." He frowned. "But it didn't work the first time. Why should things be better now?" 

"But she's Batwoman now. She's like us. I don't see what the problem is." 

"She's not 'like us.' And she doesn't know about Batman. I'd still be keeping things from her." 

Dick grinned. "Are you kidding? She knows." 

"No, she doesn't." 

"She's hinted at it a million times. She totally knows." 

"Maybe she suspects." 

"Yeah, right. Suspects. You know... I don't get it. Why don't you just tell her?" 

Bruce glanced at him, but his eyes were distant. "She's Batwoman for different reasons than you or me. She's in it for the thrill, the excitement. She has no real commitment." 

"I don't think you give her enough credit." 

"Maybe. But... I can't tell her. It's not necessary... And she might take it the wrong way..." 

"What, she might think you actually trust her?" 

Bruce gave him another glance, this time sharp with barely concealed annoyance. "She might think it means I've accepted her being Batwoman. I have enough on my hands with one partner." He frowned. "It's late. You should be getting home." 

Trying to conceal his reaction of mingled hurt and guilt, Dick stood up. "Okay. Uh... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, at the office." 

"Good night." 

"'Night." 

He headed out, past a quick goodbye to Alfred, through the front door, and into the manicured front lawn, to pause for a moment, trying to relax in the quiet, the semi-darkness, and the cool night air combing through his hair. Bruce was so touchy sometimes... the most innocent thing could set him off. Not into anger, but into that chilly distance that Dick had learned to be wary of. Nothing could reach him when he got like that. It seemed to happen when they talked about Kathy. Or about Harvey, since his injury. In fact, about anyone he truly cared about, if the conversation got too personal. Briefly Dick wondered if he qualified as one of those people, before he zipped up his jacket and climbed onto his motorcycle. 

=====

"You want to get popcorn? Soda? Candy?" 

Barbara grinned at him. "Are you trying to fatten me up?" 

"No! I wouldn't want that... I mean, you don't need to worry about... I mean..." Dick smiled. "I mean, you look great." 

"Thanks." A hint of a blush seemed to color her cheeks, but maybe it was only the bright lights of the movie theatre lobby. "Anyway, maybe just a soda. I want to have some appetite left for dinner." 

"You sure? It's a double feature." He leaned closer. "We're going to be in there for a very, very, very long time. Must make sure we have adequate supplies." 

She laughed at his tone. "I think I can hold out. But you get whatever you want." 

Ten minutes later, armed with popcorn (for Dick) and soda (for both) they were settling into their seats, just in time as the lights began to lower and the coming attractions began. Dick glanced at Barbara, her profile lit by the flicking glow, the red highlights of her hair almost invisible, as she smiled at the screen. 

"Look, it's that new movie about Superman!" 

Dick's watched a few seconds of it: a news clip followed by a scene with the characters in the movie. "It's not _about_ Superman, it's about some kid who wants to be like him," he said. 

"I know. But they actually got him to appear in the movie." She smiled again. "I definitely want to see it." 

"He only comes on long enough to tell kids not to put on a cape and try flying... his idea of public service, I guess." 

"I guess. Betcha Batman would never do something like that." 

"No bet here." Dick almost laughed at the thought. 

"Dad complains about him sometimes. Says he's a loose cannon. But I think deep down he trusts him." 

"Yeah? Uh... what does he think of Nightwing?" 

She shrugged. "Just grumbles about how every weirdo out there thinks they can put on a mask and run around beating people up." 

As Dick was trying to decide if his other identity had just been insulted, the film stopped. Darkness and silence descended, broken by the restless rustling and whispers of an impatient audience. Dick took another mouthful of popcorn and then regretted it when he heard how loud his crunching sounded. "What the hell's going on?" he muttered after what felt like minutes. But that question was abruptly answered as the screen brightened again, not into a movie scene or an advertisement, but with an image that froze Dick in his seat. 

A hideous face loomed over them, the scarring over half of it magnified into monstrosity as it filled the picture. A face divided down the middle into normality and distortion, but all of it cast into an expression of cruel determination. Hard eyes seemed to bore into each person as the theatre filled with gasps of shock and cries of fear. 

"It's... it's Harvey Dent!" Barbara choked. 

"Two-Face," Dick agreed grimly. He was already thinking fast. Had to contact Bruce and slip away from Barbara somehow. But he had to make sure she would be safe. Even as his fingers found the small text messaging cellphone he carried for emergencies and began to tap the buttons, the image before them moved and began to speak. 

_"I am Two-Face. You've all heard of me, so you know the wisest thing for all of you to do is cooperate. Please note my men at the front of the theatre, and observe that they are carrying machine guns. Other men will move down the aisles, collecting your valuables. Do not resist, and no one needs to be hurt."_

Nothing he could do to stop it, not without getting shot. Dick and Barbara were towards the front of the first section Two-Face's men went through, and among the first to be approached. He handed over his cash to two hard-faced, armed men without comment, and gritted his teeth as Barbara removed a thin gold chain from her neck and gave it to them. But as soon as the thieves had moved on and no one was watching... 

"Dick? Where are you going?" Barbara whispered. 

Dick had slid to the floor, letting his seat fold up. "I'm going to try to get to a phone. Just stay put, they won't hurt you if you don't try anything." 

For an instant she looked frightened, but then her face firmed with resolve. "I'll come with you." 

"No!" he hissed. "Too dangerous." 

"It's dangerous for you, too!" 

"I can move faster on my own," he said with brutal honesty. "No time to argue. Stay here and be quiet." He softened it - he hoped - with a quick touch on her hand, and then began to crawl between the seats, heading away from where he could see the criminals working their way through the crowd. All he needed was a minute in a dark corner. Bruce would be on his way already, but he needed to slow them down - to find Harvey Dent, and maybe they could end this. 

It seemed to take forever, but was probably less than a minute, before he slipped out of a small janitor's closet, now wearing black and midnight blue. Nightwing cast a quick glance over the theatre. Two-Face's men were close to being finished, and there had apparently been no trouble yet. 

The immense and horrifying face on the screen was speaking again. _"Give up your money and jewelry without protest. The more quickly you cooperate, the more quickly we can be out of here. Anyone calling the police will be severely punished."_

Yes, they would want to get out as fast as possible, other people here had cellphones and some had certainly used them despite the threat; the cops would be arriving soon. Harvey. Where was he? Nightwing's eyes found a small door at the back, standing halfway open, narrow, shadowy stairs visible on the other side. What they were seeing on screen was a film, but someone had to be running the projector. It was a good place to start. 

He ran up the stairs as quietly as he could, hoping Batman's lessons had sunk in, feeling his mouth get dry and his palms moisten with sweat as he saw light outlining a partially-open door at the top. What was it Bruce had said? _The day you stop being afraid is the day you'll die..._ The way his heart was hammering right now, he'd probably live forever. He stopped, flattening himself against the stairwell wall. From the other side of the door there came the whirring sound of a film projector, and voices. 

"You're some actor, boss. Shoulda been in Hollywood." 

"Yes. Perhaps I could make horror movies. As the monster, of course." Nightwing recognized Harvey Dent's voice from the party. 

The other, unfamiliar voice turned apologetic. "I didn't mean it like that." 

"You fail to understand me, Joe. You see, I'm proud of the way I look. Of the way people look at me, the way I frighten them." 

"If you say so." 

"Come on, they're almost done down there. Let's go." 

Nightwing drew back even farther, and then lunged as a man stepped through the doorway. He threw a punch, unable to see well enough in the darkened stairway, felt his fist connect and heard a grunt of pain. The man sagged back, a hand to his face. Nightwing braced himself as well as he could on the rail and side-kicked, knocking his opponent off-balance, sending him sliding off his feet and down a few steps. 

The door was still open, the second man framed in the light from within, a small room half filled with mechanical equipment visible behind him. Nightwing swung around to face him, and stopped, hesitating. It was Two-Face, his grotesque features twisted in a grimace of rage. Even his clothing reflected the duality of his face; the suit he wore was neat and elegant on the right side, ripped, wrinkled, and frayed on the left. 

They stared at each other. Nightwing took a step closer as Two-Face took one back. "Look, Dent, I don't want to hurt you," he began. "Just give up, and tell your men to surrender." 

"Sorry, but I won't make it so easy for you." 

"Batman and I want to help you. You're not a criminal, not really..." 

"Too late. Too late for anyone to help. And too late for you." 

His eyes moved, just enough to warn Nightwing. _Stupid,_ he had time to think; he had let Two-Face distract him and forgotten about the man on the stairs. Now he spun, falling into a crouch, and heard the whistle of air as a weapon whirled over his head, barely missing him. A pipe, from the looks of it... he struck at the man's elbow with a hard chop, heard a gasp, and saw the pipe drop with a clatter as Two-Face dashed by, headed for the stairway. 

"Sorry, pal, have to make this fast..." he growled, and leaned into a punch, driving his fist into his opponent's stomach. As the man doubled up, Nightwing kicked forward, sending him stumbling backwards, only to hit the wall of the tiny room. Surprisingly, he stayed on his feet and lunged forward, arms reaching out. Nightwing ducked under them, caught him around the waist, and with a lift and a twist slammed him into the wall again and let him fall. This time he stayed there. 

Had to go after Two-Face... but a wave of shouts and screams from below brought Nightwing up short. It took only a step to reach the small window through which the film was being projected, and a moment to see a cloaked and shadowed figure moving rapidly across the theatre and down an aisle. It flew into a knot of Two-Face's men. There were cries of alarm, and then the thieves were falling away, one crashing over a row of seats, another landing on the floor on his face, the third lifted into the air before being thrown into the fourth. Batman had arrived. 

By the time Nightwing reached the bottom of the stairs, it appeared to be all over. Two-Face's men lay strewn where Batman had left them, but a quick look around revealed no sign of Two-Face himself, or of Batman. Then there was no time to look as the sharp reports of gunfire echoed through the theatre, provoking more screams. 

The cops... Nightwing ducked instinctively behind a seat as he saw blue uniforms run in, weapons at the ready. They found cover, scanned the area, and moved in, quickly surrounding the men on the floor. In moments they were busy with handcuffs and the usual warnings as the thieves were arrested. Nightwing watched, but there didn't seem to be anything more he could do - except slip back into that janitor's closet, change to Dick Grayson, and find Barbara. 

=====

She was in the lobby, the beginnings of desperation in her eyes, when he spotted her. And then the smile that lit her face when she saw him, the relief he could see behind it, a relief that was at least close to what he felt at seeing her unharmed... it almost made the whole thing worth it. 

"Are you all right?" they both said, almost simultaneously. 

"I'm fine," Barbara said. "Where have you been? I was looking everywhere." 

"I slipped out and found a phone. Then I tried to get back in, but they were watching, so I hid, and then the shooting started. What happened to you? Are you sure you're okay?" 

"Yeah. I just stayed where I was until the cops came, and then got under the seat, and then when it was over I came out to look for you." She glanced around, any trace of a smile gone. "One of the crooks got shot. And some guy who works for the theatre." 

"Hope they'll be okay." 

"Even the bad guy?" 

"Even him. I heard Batman was here. Did you see him?" 

"Just for a second." A sparkle came into her eyes, and her lips curved again. "He was incredible!" 

"Did you see where he went?" 

If she thought the question was odd, she didn't show it. "Harvey - I mean, Two-Face - ran out the side door. Batman went after him." 

Dick cast a look at the door Barbara had indicated. But it was too late, they would both be long gone by now, and the police would want statements; he couldn't just leave. If Batman needed help, he'd call for it. Nothing he could do for now, except try to get out of here and get Barbara home as fast as possible. And then wait. 

=====

TBC... 


	6. Flip Side

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. My thanks to Becky, since I couldn't thank you by email - and to everyone else who's been reading. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Flip Side

* * *

Batman paused after taking care of the last of Two-Face's men. He looked around quickly over the auditorium crowded with frightened people, most of them now looking at him with expressions ranging from fear to excitement. Then eyes darted past him, expressions changed - he turned to see a man dash out from a door at the back and stop for a moment, staring at him, wild-eyed. 

Harvey. Two-Face... Both the handsome and hideous sides of his face distorted in fear and anger; he snarled wordlessly and then ran for the side of the theatre, where Batman could see an exit door barely visible. Two-Face hit it, fumbled with the knob and got it open, racing through as Batman vaulted over rows of seats in pursuit. 

There was an alley outside - dirt, a line of trash cans, Two-Face several yards away, just turning the corner into the street. Batman caught sight of him again just as he threw himself into a car and slammed the door. There was just enough time to reach the car as it began to move, almost hitting him as Two-Face reversed to get out of the parking space and then zoomed into the sparse nighttime traffic. And there was enough time to slap a tiny tracking device on the rear fender. 

- - -

_Safe, safe at home._ Harvey leaned against the door, still gasping for air, as much from fear as exertion. It was dark in these rooms in the basement of a rundown boarding house in the suburbs. Dark and empty. His men, captured. All of them. And the shots he had heard when he ran from the theatre - the police, of course, shooting, just doing their jobs, and who could blame them if they killed the men he had found to help him. 

He blinked, vaguely surprised at the emotion he felt. They weren't much, his boys, his gang, but they had accepted him. They looked him in the face without flinching. At least without showing it. Maybe they were just used to ugly things, the harsher realities of life. Yes, they had accepted him, and obeyed him, and been loyal, as far as the loyalty of such people went. And he had led them into jail, or worse. 

What if someone else had gotten hurt? Innocent bystanders were often the first victims; he knew that all too well. Someone whose only crime had been to go out to the movies... Once he had been sworn to protect the rights of those people, the victims. 

_"The coin decided. It wasn't you."_

Harvey looked up, his eyes finding the shadowy mirror hung on the wall in the cramped living room. Quite a step down from his house: tiny rooms, no housekeeper, a mixture of shabby furniture mingled with a few nice things he had been able to get, with stolen money of course. Ugliness and beauty combined, just like himself. 

"Yes, my bad side made me do it," he told the image in the mirror. "If only the good side of the coin had come up tonight, none of this would have happened." 

_"You couldn't help it. It was meant to be."_

Harvey stepped closer to the mirror. If he looked only at the right side of his face, it was almost the reflection he remembered, not the creature who still shocked him every time he saw himself. 

"Can this be me?" he asked it. "Can this be the man who was once handsome, had a sweetheart, was a respected district attorney? Look at me now... ugly... a criminal!" 

_"They did this to you. It's not your fault."_

"Moroni did this to me. But I'm no better than he is now." 

_"They destroyed your career. You would never have been re-elected as DA. You would never be able to be a trial lawyer again. No one would be able to look past the outside and see that you're still the same person."_

"Maybe... maybe... But now I'll never know, will I? And what about Gilda? I pushed her away..." 

_"She turned from you in horror."_

"It was a shock for her." 

_"She would never have accepted you this way. She might have stayed, but only out of pity. Better for her this way. Better for both of you."_

"What's left for me now?" Harvey stared into the surface, into the stranger's face. There was no answer. 

- - -

Batman had been careful to keep out of sight as he followed Two-Face down streets that became increasingly dark and empty, from the luxury of downtown Gotham City to the subtle air of neglect and danger in one of its seedier suburbs. He saw men on the sidewalks look up as the Batmobile glided past, then turn their faces away and slink into the shadows. Lucky for them, he was after bigger game tonight. 

The car was parked in front of a boarding house. Batman crossed the yard swiftly, moved against the wall, and began to circle the building. Two-Face was unlikely to be using a room in the main house, he wouldn't want the guests seeing him, or the men he had acquired. No, he probably had a separate entrance. 

In back, he found a door whose lock slowed him down for less than a minute. Behind it a stairway led down. Silently he descended, and paused as he heard a familiar voice from the other side of a second door. He had the right place, all right... but who was Two-Face talking to? Had one of his men escaped? Had he left someone here? And he couldn't hear another voice answering... The door was unlocked. Slowly, silently, he eased it open. 

"What about Gilda?" Two-Face was saying. "I pushed her away..." 

Batman hesitated. Again there was no other voice for a few moments, until Harvey spoke again. With mingled surprise and pity, Batman realized he was talking to himself. 

"It was a shock for her." 

Batman padded through the narrow hallway, pressed himself against the wall, and cautiously looked out into a dimly lit living room, filled with a bizarre collection of shabby junk and expensive furniture and art. Two-Face was there, his back turned, facing a framed mirror mounted on the wall. 

"What's left for me now?" 

The hopelessness of both the words and the tone stopped Batman's advance. He had intended to catch Two-Face by surprise, and overpower him quickly. But... somehow this man wasn't Two-Face, not at this moment. This was his friend standing there, shoulders slumped, a friend who had been terribly hurt and needed help, not punishment. He waited, but Harvey only sighed and turned away from the mirror. 

"Harvey..." he started. 

"Who...?" Harvey tensed and moved back, fear, astonishment, and fury washing over his face as Batman stepped out where he could be seen. "What... What are _you_ doing here?" 

"I trailed you." 

"You're not taking me in! I'll kill you first!" There was a glint of metal as Harvey's hand dipped into his pocket and a gun appeared. 

"You could shoot me. But I'm taking the chance you won't." 

"I'm not letting you put me in jail!" 

"Dent... Harvey... Please, don't be a fool. Give yourself up. Everyone remembers your fine record as a DA. They'll know all of this was only temporary insanity caused by what happened to you. I'll speak for you, so will Commissioner Gordon. You can get treatment, probably no jail time. And you can get plastic surgery, maybe that can help. When you get out, you can start over again, have a normal life, instead of... this." He waved a hand around the bizarre room. 

"So you think I'm crazy." 

"I think being disfigured has affected your mind. But it doesn't have to be that way. You can get help." 

"Help? Locked up in a state institution, with doctors to poke into my mind and nurses to shove pills down my throat? Do you really think that's going to _help_ me?" 

"You can make a deal, get yourself committed to a private institution." 

"That takes money. Lots of it." 

"There are people who would help you, Harvey. It's better than staying like this." 

"But I have no choice, do I? None of those doctors or nurses can change the way I look. I'll never have a normal life again." 

"That's not true. The way you look doesn't have to matter." 

Harvey grinned savagely. "Doesn't matter? Are you naïve, or do you think I'm a fool? Of course it matters. Why do you think I was so successful as a lawyer, and as a DA? It wasn't all brains, or hard work. It was this face!" He pointed to the right side of his face. "People like good-looking people. Admire them. Trust them. Ugly people are evil, mean, untrustworthy..." 

"You know that's ridiculous." 

"Is it really?" Harvey leaned closer, his features twisting with anger, his hand bringing the gun closer. "It's human nature. I know. I tried, I tried to live my 'normal life' with this face, but people turned away. Gilda couldn't stand to look at me. Children cried for their mothers. And you want to know the best part? Do you?" 

"All right. What was it?" 

"A part of me likes it. The part that came out when Moroni threw that acid in my face. The part that came free... A part of me likes making people fear me." 

Batman frowned at him. "I don't believe that. It's not you talking, it's what all this has done to you." 

The grin intensified. "Confess, Batman, you know the feeling. Why do you wear that costume, after all? Why dress like a - a six-foot bat, why wear the mask and lurk in the shadows? You want people to be afraid of you!" 

There was just enough truth in it to touch Batman with uneasiness. "Yes, I want people to fear me - but only my enemies. Only criminals. It can be useful to be intimidating." 

"Not to mention the feeling of power... Yes, you like it, don't you? We're alike, you and I. We both have two lives, only one of mine is in the past, while you still live both of yours. We both have two faces, only you can take one of yours off. You can pretend to be just an ordinary man. You can be a monster only when you choose. Well, I don't have that luxury." 

"You're not a monster, Harvey. Not yet." Batman watched him closely, looking for some sign that his words were having an effect. "You haven't killed anyone; you haven't done anything yet that can't be forgiven. But if you keep on like this... you'll end up in jail or in an institution anyway, or maybe dead." 

"It might be better that way." 

"No. There's still hope. Still a chance, if you'll let me help you. Will you try?" 

"Chance..." Harvey reached into his pocket. His hand came out holding a silver disk. "Remember this?" he asked softly, his fingers rubbing it lovingly. 

"Moroni's lucky silver dollar." 

"Mine now. Ever wondered why I commit a robbery one night, and give to charity the next? Take loot from one place, and return it to another?" 

"Of course I've wondered." 

"It's the coin." Harvey turned it to catch a glimmer of light. "The coin decides. If the good side comes up, the good half of me takes over. If the bad side wins... well, you can guess what that means." 

Batman eyed him uncertainly. It was all part of Harvey's madness - a madness he was realizing was deeper than he had thought. "What's the point?" he asked. 

Harvey smiled. "Simple. I'll toss you for it. Good side up, I'll surrender to you. Bad side up - I'll kill you." 

Batman blinked at him. "You'd let a coin toss decide whether you commit murder or not?" 

"As good a way as any, isn't it?" 

"No! Harvey, this is..." 

"Crazy? Why not say it? You don't understand, no one does. I'm of two minds now. It's only a matter of chance which one takes over." He grinned again and held out his hand, curling his fingers around the coin. "If you don't like it, I can just go ahead and shoot you." 

"All right. Go on, get it over with." 

Batman watched tensely, but the gun in Two-Face's other hand never wavered, and he was too far away to jump him. The odds were fifty-fifty... not a chance he was at all eager to take, but it was already too late... the coin spun upwards in a flash of silver, turning lazily, seeming to take forever to reach the top of its arc and fall again. It came down - Batman was ready to make his move, but Two-Face never took his eyes off him. The coin missed the hand reaching for it, and fell to the floor. 

Batman stared. Two-Face took a step back and darted a quick look down. The coin had fallen into a crack in the ancient flooring and stuck there, standing on edge. Batman raised his eyes. "What are you going to do now? Try again?" he asked. 

"No. I only toss once against fate." 

"Looks like you'll have to make the decision yourself, after all." 

Two-Face's expression changed. For a moment Batman thought it was anger, and glanced at the finger on the trigger... but then he realized it was fear, almost panic, tightly controlled. Slowly, Two-Face bent to pick up the coin. "I _can't_ decide," he said finally. "It's up to fate now to choose." 

"What do you mean?" 

"If the coin won't help me, I'll have to find something that will." He began to edge towards the door. 

"Harvey, don't run," Batman said, taking a step after him. "You'll be running for the rest of your life." 

"Don't try to stop me." 

"Will you at least think about what I said? Consider giving yourself up?" 

For just a moment, Batman thought he saw his old friend look back at him from that distorted face, a face filled with uncertainty and doubt. He started forward again, but stopped as Harvey raised the gun, grimacing in sudden rage and fear. For another moment he thought Two-Face would shoot... but he turned and fled, footsteps racing up the stairs. Batman gave him a few seconds before following. He waited at the top of the stairs until he heard a car engine, and then ran for the Batmobile. 

- - -

Of course he was following. Harvey snarled at the image in his rearview mirror. Couldn't let the Batmobile catch up, couldn't let himself be captured. He knew better than most people the kind of things that happened in jail, especially to former police - or guards - or prosecutors. 

But Batman had said he didn't have to go to jail... He could get help... Maybe even get his face fixed... 

_"Don't believe it, Harvey. You can't trust him. Can't trust anyone."_

He raised his eyes to the mirror again. "I don't know... Maybe he was right, maybe they'd go easy on me." 

_"Don't take the chance. You're better off free."_

"Free?" Harvey laughed. "Am I free now? No home, no friends, running from the law? Isn't anything better than this?" 

"He's right behind us!" 

It was true... Panicked, Harvey instinctively wrenched at the wheel, whipping around a corner so fast the little car teetered on two wheels for a heart-stopping second. Then it dropped back to the road. A glance behind him showed the Batmobile falling behind as it slowed to take the turn. 

But that glance cost him; Harvey yelped in startled fear as he turned back and saw a blue-uniformed figure dashing into the street, stopping in front of him and waving him down. A cop, maybe with a gun... He yanked the wheel again, as the policeman dived out of the way, swerved, felt the car bump over the curb, tried to regain control as he bounced over another curb and across a cross street, and cried out, covering his face as a tree seemed to hurtle straight at him. With a crunching, ripping sound he was thrown forward, feeling impact on his head and chest. Then there was abrupt silence. 

Had to move... He climbed out, numbly surprised to find himself still alive and apparently uninjured. He looked around. The Batmobile was still coming, slowing as it approached the cop, who was getting back to his feet and drawing his gun. Harvey was half a block away, on the other side of the next street. Staggering slightly, he started away. 

"Hey! Stop!" 

It was the cop. A glance back showed him aiming his weapon. Harvey began to run. 

"Stop or I'll shoot!" 

Harvey whirled, his own gun in hand. He fired in the cop's general direction, and heard the sharp report of return gunfire. Something hit him, hard, in the chest. He almost fell, but somehow managed to keep going, dashing between two houses. 

- - -

"Stop shooting!" Batman grabbed the policeman's wrist, and twisted the pistol out of his hand. 

"But that was Two-Face! He's getting away!" 

"I don't want him dead!" Batman glared, biting back more angry words. "And neither does Commissioner Gordon. He's sick. He needs help, not a bullet!" He tossed the gun back as he started after Two-Face. 

But there was no sign of him. They searched yards, questioned curious and frightened residents, called in reinforcements, all to no avail. Harvey Dent was gone. But Two-Face would be back, Batman was sure of it. 

- - -

Harvey had learned to live in the dark, in the shadows, how to move without being seen, how to hide the scarred side of his face with a cap pulled low and a collar pulled high. How to disappear. He had slipped into a basement when Batman was near, and then out again and away before the search widened. Now he was safe, for the moment, in the dark, in a decaying abandoned building. 

Leaning against the wall, he slipped his hand into his shirt pocket, fingers finding the coin. He stared at it in the dim illumination of a streetlight glowing through a dusty window. The scarred side was even more disfigured now, showing the mark of a hard impact. 

_"The bullet, Harvey. The policeman's bullet."_

"My coin stopped the bullet." 

_"Yes. It hit the scarred side. The evil side of the coin saved your life."_

"Yes..." It was what he needed; the decision was made. Harvey closed his hand tightly around the coin, determined not to feel regret for the door he was closing on his old life. "It saved me - for a life of crime."   
  


End Part I 

TBC... 


	7. Mixed Doubles

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Mixed Doubles

* * *

"My coin. One side clean and good, the other side scarred and evil. Like my face..." Harvey stared down at it, turning the silver disk in his fingers. He had started his life again in the last weeks, and gotten a new gang together. He raised his eyes to them now, looking at them one by one: harsh, hard faces, the faces of men worn down by harsh, hard lives. And yet, he would have traded any of their faces for his own. 

Last was the man who had become his informal second-in-command. Nicky, no last name that anyone knew of, an unattractive character with a cigarette permanently dangling from his mouth, but smarter and more independent than the others. 

"If the good side comes up, we hit Eckhart's pawn shop, take the latest batch of stolen goods he's fencing, and return it to the original owners. If it's the bad side... Well, we all know what to do." 

All eyes were on him as he tossed the double-headed silver dollar into the air. They all watched as it spun upwards and seemed to hang there for a moment before falling back. Harvey could imagine which side they were hoping for. Doing good deeds didn't pay for new cars, expensive booze, or pretty women. 

The coin smacked into his palm. He uncurled his fingers and saw smiles light the faces surrounding him. Good news, for them. Scarred side up. Bad news for their next target. 

- - -

She was smiling again. Bruce smiled back. "What?" he asked. 

"Nothing," Kathy said. "It's just that - this is nice." 

"The restaurant? The food?" 

"No. I mean yes, they're nice, but that's not what I meant." 

"I can't think of anything else." 

She laughed at him. "I mean having dinner with you, silly. It's been a long time." 

"It has, hasn't it? Why is that?" 

Another smile, as Kathy lowered her eyes. They both knew why. But, somehow, things seemed to have changed recently. Part of it was Harvey Dent; that crisis had pulled them together. How far together remained to be seen; this was the first time they had gone out on what he could really call a date in... months. 

He studied her while she wasn't looking. Wavy, very dark shoulder-length hair, warm eyes, a pretty face, not as glamorously beautiful as Selina but more quietly attractive... He frowned. Why was he comparing them? Selina was out of his life, probably forever. Hopefully forever; her life as Catwoman would only lead to tragedy, sooner or later. 

And what about Batwoman? Kathy had done well, so far, but who knew how long it would last? How long before she got hurt, or worse? And she wasn't the only one, the same was true of Dick. Seemed as soon as he made the mistake of letting himself care about someone, they immediately insisted on endangering themselves. 

"What's the matter? Something wrong with your dinner?" 

She was watching him. Bruce quickly smoothed his face into its usual blandly pleasant expression, and saw her brows twitch briefly with a frown. "No. Just thinking about something at work." 

"Anything I can help with?" 

"Thanks, but no." How easy it was to slip back into lying to her, the same way he had spent his adult life lying to almost everyone. Alfred and Dick were the only people in the world he could be truthful with. And Kathy? Dick had said she was like them now, and maybe he was right, but somehow Bruce couldn't bring himself to share that most important side of himself with her. He didn't completely understand why; it wasn't as if he didn't trust her - he had told Dick his identity after meeting him only a few times, why was Kathy different? Despite his denials, he knew she had at least guessed, and yet he couldn't take the final step of being honest about it. _Probably good old-fashioned fear of commitment,_ he told himself ruefully. 

They walked after dinner, enjoying the night air and a full moon. Bruce didn't hold her hand, but he thought about it, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was a quiet night for this downtown neighborhood, between passing cars he could hear the click of her heels on the pavement. 

"Let's get dessert," she said. 

"After that dinner? Where are you going to put it?" 

"Don't worry about that. Come on, in here." 

"This is a bar." 

She grinned. "Yeah, but they have great cheesecake. Come on, see how the other half lives." 

"Cheesecake... So self-indulgent..." 

"Yeah, Mr. Self-control, I'm just a hedonist at heart. Why don't you relax and have some fun for a change?" 

He groaned, but there was little choice with her tugging at his arm, and to tell the truth she looked so appealing, like a kid at play, eyes sparkling at the thought of a treat. "I have fun all the time," he protested. 

"Yeah, right." 

Inside was noisy, crowded, and smelled of food and various varieties of alcohol. A more relaxed and friendly atmosphere than the bars he hung out in when in disguise, trying to catch underworld gossip. Still, he found himself glancing around, looking for anything suspicious, for the familiar faces of known criminals. _Kathy's right,_ he chided himself. _Forget about crime for one night._

So he smiled, sat down at one of the small tables near the bar, ordered cheesecake for both of them and even a beer, of which he took only a few sips. He was so intent on Kathy, and on relaxation, that he missed the first few words. Then some instinctive radar alerted him as soon as he heard... 

_"Matchbook manufacturer Henry Logan has apparently been kidnapped tonight by a group of men who ambushed him on a downtown street just after seven this evening. There were several witnesses who identified one of the abductors as former DA Harvey Dent, now known as Two-Face."_

Bruce stared up at the television over the bar. A picture of Harvey before his injury was displayed before the picture switched back to the announcer. 

_"This crime is the first Two-Face has committed for the last six weeks, since his bold attempted robbery of a movie audience--"_

Bruce stopped listening and glanced at Kathy, just as she looked away from the television and met his eyes. Seven. Only two hours ago. Had to pick up the trail before it went cold. This was important enough to contact Gordon on, try to get some information. But first... 

"I'm sorry, Kathy, but I-" 

"I know. You forgot you have a very important appointment." She was already picking up her purse, and flashed him an impertinent smirk as she added. "So do I." 

"I'll drop you off." 

"Good." 

- - -

Dick breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed onto the couch in the Gordons' small den. 

"Was dinner that bad?" Barbara asked. 

"No, it was great. Your old- I mean, your father's a nice guy. But I might have been a little nervous." 

"I've brought guys home before. He hasn't killed one yet." 

"What a relief." Dick watched as she smiled and took a seat next to him, wondering if that reference to former boyfriends was supposed to mean anything. 

"Sorry if Dad gave you the third degree. He gets kind of protective, I guess." 

"Can't blame him; he's a cop, after all. I guess it comes naturally to him." 

"I know. There's times I've wished he wasn't, though, especially when I was growing up. All the late nights, and worrying about him..." She stared pensively at the floor for a moment and then brightened. "But it's better now that he has a desk job. How's it going at Wayne Enterprises?" 

Dick shrugged. "It's good." 

"What's it like working for Bruce? Hard for me to picture him taking anything seriously enough to run a big business like that." 

"He can be serious, when he wants to be." He smiled a little, inwardly, at the thought of endless training sessions, of the way Bruce drove him, and drove himself even harder. Amazing that he could hide his real nature so effectively from almost everyone. "How's _your_ job going?" 

"Fine, so far. Interesting work." 

"Really? I think I'd get bored poking through databases and websites and books all day." 

"That_ is_ what a researcher does. I don't find it boring at all. It's like being a detective: following a trail of clues, tracking down leads, trying to figure out what's accurate and what's just rumors or lies..." 

Dick could certainly relate to that. "You make it sound exciting," he murmured. 

"It is, to me. Of course, I'm only working for a book publisher, now. Be nice if I was doing it for something really important, like law enforcement." 

"It must run in the family." They shared a smile. 

"What do you want to do now?" Barbara asked after a moment. 

He grinned at the first thought that occurred, his eyes dropping to her lips, and saw them curve in amusement. Not that their relationship was much past the point of goodnight kisses yet, or that he would try anything in her father's house, not to mention that Commissioner Gordon himself might walk in on them at any moment. But it was still a nice thought. "I don't know. You want to go out? Catch a movie or something?" 

"There's nothing I want to see..." She gave him a look that seemed - inviting. "How about a drive? We could go out to the beach. Take a walk. Listen to the ocean. Look at the moon." 

"Uh... sure, if you want to. Sounds great." Maybe things were moving faster than he thought. No complaints. Dick jumped to his feet. "My car or yours?" 

"Yours, it's..." But she was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. 

They both turned to see Commissioner Gordon, his coat on, his expression announcing something was wrong. "I have to go out for a while," he said abruptly. 

"Dad, what is it?" 

"Nothing for you to worry about. Just something I want to look into personally." He hesitated, and then added, "It's Harvey Dent. Two-Face. He's back. A kidnapping this time." 

"Oh," Barbara said faintly. "I understand. Be careful." 

"Always am." He smiled quickly, reassuringly. "Don't wait up." 

_Damn, damn, damn,_ Dick was thinking as the door clicked shut behind him. Much as he felt sorry for Harvey, he would have cheerfully strangled him right about now for his lousy timing. But there was just no way around it, no way to sit this one out, not when it was Bruce's friend involved. 

"Look, Barbara, maybe I'd better go. You're probably not in the mood for - uh - looking at the moon now, and - and I want to call Bruce and make sure he's okay." 

Was there a flash of hurt and disappointment in her face? He couldn't tell. "Okay," she said. "I suppose you're right." 

"Look..." But what could he say? "I'll call you, okay?" 

"Sure." 

After a minute and a kiss that was entirely too brief, he was outside, hurrying to his car, when the ring of his cellphone brought him up short. 

"Hello?" 

_"There's a problem."_

"I know. Just heard about it." 

_"Can you come?"_

"On my way." 

- - -

It was a big house, a mansion really, bigger than the Wayne house but not as well kept up. Fading paint and a garden allowed to run wild spoke of neglect in the harsh light of a bare bulb over a wide and once-gracious porch. They stood outside the circle of that illumination, in the shadow of a circle of trees. As Batman had expected, Batwoman had appeared as soon as he and Nightwing had arrived, and joined them. 

"Henry Logan," Batman said in a near whisper. "He manufactures matchbooks, both the plain kind and the specialty ones." 

"You mean like the matchbooks you get in restaurants, with their name on it?" Nightwing asked. 

"Restaurants, conventions, weddings. Yes." Batman frowned into the darkness. He had met Logan once, as Bruce Wayne, and had no pleasant memories of him. "He's got family money, too. Two-Face will want a big ransom. My guess is he'll approach Logan's company; there's no relatives to go to." 

"Then why are we at his house?" 

"To see what we can find. Which is why the police are here, although I'm surprised to see them out in force like this." 

"So am I," Batwoman said, her slightly nervous glance taking in the police cars lining the street behind them. 

The three of them fell into silence as the front door opened, revealing a small group of people. Batman looked them over, noting and quickly dismissing three uniformed officers and two plainclothes detectives whose faces he remembered from other cases. But the last man surprised him. Commissioner Gordon himself. Actually not so surprising, he was here in person for some of the same reasons Batman was, because he knew Harvey Dent personally. 

They stayed among the trees, making no real effort to hide, and yet also making no move to attract attention. Over the years, Batman had established a sort of truce with the police, working with them occasionally but never publicly, helping to enforce the law but operating outside it, tolerated but not quite welcomed. In recent months Nightwing and Batwoman had been tacitly accepted into the same tenuous relationship. 

Gordon stopped on the edge of the porch, sweeping a penetrating look around the yard, his eyes stopping as Batman moved just enough to let the moonlight catch him. "Go on ahead," he said to his companions in a low voice that carried clearly on the night air. "I have a few things to take care of here." 

He waited until their voices and footsteps had faded before leaving the house and walking a few yards towards them. "Well?" he called quietly. "Do you want to talk or not?" 

"If I didn't, you wouldn't have seen me." Batman advanced to meet him. 

"I know... And I see you've brought the whole gang." Gordon's eyes moved past him, and Batman didn't have to turn to know Nightwing and Batwoman had followed. "I figured you'd show up, since you seem to be after Two-Face." 

"Yes, I'm interested in this case. Has there been a ransom demand yet?" 

"There has." 

"Who did it go to? How much? When?" 

"It came here, in the form of a phone call." 

"Here? But I thought Logan lives alone." 

"He does." If it had been anyone else, Batman would have said Gordon was smirking. "Come on in. For once, I can actually surprise you." 

The door was opened by a uniformed officer who did a quick double-take when he saw them, but made no comment, simply standing aside to let them enter. The four of them filed into a large entrance foyer, one which Batman's educated eye told him had once been impressive, like the outside of the house, but which was now unfurnished and uncared for. They followed Gordon down a short hallway, into another room. It might have once been a living room, a very large one where the original owners might have had parties and dancing, but now... 

"Holy shit..." he heard Nightwing mutter. Batwoman was staring, her eyes wide behind the mask. Not that he could blame them, for a moment he just looked, speechless. 

The room was filled with a bizarre collection of - of statues, or models, or something. Light, airy-looking structures: airplanes hung from the ceiling, a group of globes on columns, a collection of amazingly life-like animals in one corner, cars and trucks in another, a set of large glass bottles containing ships in yet another, a group of amazingly accurate scale models of famous buildings in the middle of the floor. They were all made from the same material, something gray - or tan, or brown, like wood... He took a few steps closer to what appeared to be a bird... 

"_Matches?_" Nightwing exclaimed. "They're all made of matches!" He reached out towards the half-finished model of what appeared to be a train. 

"Idiot! Don't touch that!" 

They all swung around at the sound of a harsh, querulous voice. Its owner came into view, stumping towards them between the strange statuary on a cane: a middle-aged man with an expression of what was probably permanent annoyance. He stopped and thumped the cane on the floor for emphasis. 

"Bad enough to have these police tromping all over my house! Now you bring these masked vigilantes in here! Well, if anything happens to my work..." 

Batman abruptly found his tongue. "Henry Logan?" he asked. 

"Of course. Who else would I be?" 

"But..." 

"But the news reports. You were kidnapped. How did you get free?" Batwoman asked, sounding calmer than Batman felt. 

"I didn't, young lady. I was never kidnapped in the first place." 

"It wasn't Mr. Logan who Two-Face snatched," Gordon supplied. "It was his double." 

"Double?" 

"Yes, of course," Logan snapped. "Do you think I have time for social appearances, business meetings, and so on? They're nothing but a waste of time. My double stands in for me. He takes care of the tiresome chores, so I can concentrate on my work." He waved a hand to include the roomful of matchstick figures. 

"Yeah, I can see this stuff is _real_ important," Nightwing commented just loud enough to be heard. 

Batman silenced him with a glance. "It figures," he said. "Two-Face's crimes have a theme. Twos. Doubles. But how did he know he was getting your double and not you?" 

Logan frowned. "A couple of years ago my house was robbed. As the district attorney, Harvey Dent was involved in prosecuting the case. I confided in him. And this is the reward I get." He shot a glare at all of them. "I want you to get my double back. It would be inconvenient to have to find a new one." 

Batman ignored his own rising irritation. "I don't suppose your double has a name of his own." 

"Well, of course he has a name. It's Stanley Ames." 

"You've gotten a ransom demand?" 

"Yes. A million dollars. A ridiculous amount. To be delivered by my double's wife." 

"His wife?" 

"She's right here." Logan turned, looked around, and snapped his fingers impatiently. "Come on, come on! Don't keep us waiting." 

A woman appeared amid a forest of matchstick trees and bushes, and came forward slowly and hesitantly. She was average in height and weight, plain-looking, ordinary in every way except the impression she gave of attempting to be invisible. That and the reddened eyes and nose that told she had been crying. 

"This is Nancy Ames," Gordon said quietly. "Two-Face demands that she deliver the ransom personally. Presumably he assumes we won't try anything with her involved. I think it's too dangerous for her to do." 

"No," Mrs. Ames said in an unexpectedly firm voice. "I'll do whatever I have to, to make sure Stanley is safe." 

"That's very brave, Mrs. Ames, but we have to consider your safety." 

"Yes." Batwoman had moved forward. She stepped next to Mrs. Ames and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I agree that you shouldn't do it. But I have an idea..." 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	8. Second Guessed

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Second Guessed

- - -

She pulled her coat a little tighter around her body and peered both ways down the empty street. Figured Two-Face would arrange to have her and the ransom picked up in a dismal and probably dangerous place like this. And at the ungodly hour of 6 am, too. Inconsiderate, to say the least. She resolved that she'd have a few choice words for Mr. Harvey Dent - if she ever got the chance to say them. 

As she found herself shivering - not entirely from the early morning chill - a car turned around the corner, slowed, and pulled over next to her. The door opened, and a rat-faced little man with a cigarette lodged in his mouth leaned out to look at her. "Mrs. Ames, right?" he asked. 

"Yes." Her voice was soft and timid. He could probably barely hear it. 

"You got the money?" 

"Here." She held up the satchel she was carrying. 

"Then hop on in." When she hesitated he added, not unkindly, "Don't worry; if everything's on the level the boss ain't gonna hurt ya." 

Somehow that failed to be much comfort. 

- - -

_"They've picked her up."_

"We know. We've got the trace. Keep in touch." Batman replaced the tiny microphone in his belt. 

Nightwing watched, at the back of his mind listening to the voices in the earplug he wore, the voices of the various cops stationed around the ransom pickup point. At Batman's nod, he rose to his feet and followed, down a fire escape to the street and into the Batmobile. 

The Batmobile... he smiled inwardly at the memory of the first time he had ridden in it with Batman. The way he had blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind..._ "Man, this is sweet! I bet you get tons of girls in this thing..."_ Batman had actually laughed, something so unexpected he hadn't even been embarrassed at how idiotic he must have sounded. But of course there was no laughing today, not in what could be a life-and-death situation. 

Harvey Dent. Briefly Nightwing wondered about him as they accelerated, trailing the car which had just picked up the ransom: about what he had been like before the attack that had changed him so drastically. A nice guy, a man dedicated to the law, a decent and moral person, according to Bruce. But how could anyone change so completely, no matter what had happened to him? Had he always had those other qualities in him? Maybe everyone did. Maybe everyone had a dark side, just waiting to come out under the right circumstances. 

The car ahead led them out of the city, shadowy urban sidewalks and buildings gradually yielding to the houses and yards of a suburban area. Sunrise lightened the sky over them, a rosy color staining the clouds in the east. 

"How far is he going?" Nightwing finally muttered in impatience. 

"Safer for him out of the city. Less likely anyone would spot him." 

"You think they're going to his hideout, then?" 

Batman shrugged. "Don't know. It would be smarter for him to take her someplace else. And to keep Ames blindfolded, to make sure he can't tell us where they've been holing up." 

There was a brief silence before Nightwing asked the question he suspected was on both their minds. "Do you think he intends to let Ames go alive?" 

The answer came instantly. "Yes, I think so. Two-Face hasn't killed anyone. I think - I think Harvey wouldn't do that." 

"You think part of him is still the same, that he can still reform? Despite everything?" 

"I hope so." The way Batman's mouth settled into a hard line didn't encourage that line of questioning. And of course he was worried about someone besides Ames, or even Two-Face. 

"She'll be okay," he said, as confidently as he could. "She can handle this." 

A tense hunching of Batman's shoulders was the only answer he got. They were silent for the rest of the drive. 

- - -

"Step right in." 

"Said the spider to the fly..." she muttered under her breath, trying to estimate how many men were waiting on the other side of the door leading into the barn they had finally parked in front of. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. I'm just nervous." 

The rat-faced man smiled toothily and gestured again for her to go in. She took a last look at their surroundings, an old farm by the looks of it: untended fields, an unattractive house, and this barn. No sign yet of the pursuit she knew would arrive. The smell of years-old occupancy by assorted animals, under the mustiness of decay, greeted her when she walked inside and glanced up at glassless window-like openings dotting the upper part of the walls, what seemed to be a large old hayloft still filled with moldering hay, and thick wooden beams bracing the ceiling high above. 

"Mrs. Ames, I presume." There were five men. The familiar voice focused her attention on one of them. She came to a stop as he stepped into clearer view, unable to hide her reaction. 

He grinned at her and said softly, "They say you can't judge a book by its cover, but in my case... I'm Two-Face, at your service." 

"I - I know who you are." She didn't have to fake her fear as she examined his expression for any sign of recognition. 

"I see you've brought the money. If you would be so kind..." He held out his hand, taking the satchel as she handed it over. "I trust you won't be offended if I make sure the payment is correct." 

"Not at all. Go right ahead, and please take your time." He wasn't the only one who could play at phony politeness. 

With a look that might have been amused, he knelt, opened the case, and began to lift out bundles of money. The other men stepped closer, as if magnetically attracted to the piles of cash. As they moved, she saw another man who had been behind them, this one blindfolded, gagged, and with his arms in a position that told her his hands were tied behind his back. Despite the blindfold and gag, she could see his resemblance to Henry Logan. 

"Looks like it's all here," Two-Face finally said, as he started to pack the ransom back in the bag. 

"Now can we leave?" she asked. 

"Much as I'd like to entertain both of you longer, yes, you may leave." He gestured his men out of the way and took Ames' arm, pulling him forward. "It's been delightful, but it's time for you to go home," he murmured. Ames resisted, making an incoherent sound of protest. For a moment she thought Two-Face would simply push his hostage at her, and she'd get away with it. But with a quick gesture, he pulled the blindfold off, and then untied the gag. 

Only one thing to do, hope Ames was quick and clever enough to play along... "Come on, honey, I'm going to take you home," she said, holding out her hand. 

Ames stared at her. "What is this?" he asked in a quivering voice. "Who-" 

"_Honey,_ everything's okay, we're getting out of here," she said a little more sharply. 

No use. "Who are you?" he cried. "You're not my wife!" 

"It's a trick!" Two-Face snarled. 

It all happened in a blur. Kathy's eye was caught by movement above as two forms began to drop from the beams overhead. She reacted instantly, leaping forward and tackling Ames, pulling him down to the floor. Guns were out, the criminals hesitating just long enough, as Batman and Nightwing swept down on their ropes and swung into them. Yelps of surprise and shouts of alarm filled the dusty air. Gunfire echoed. 

"Come on!" Kathy shouted when Ames curled up fearfully. "We're trying to save your life, but you have to cooperate!" She hauled him up and shoved him ahead of her, running as fast as they could for the nearest cover, which was a horse stall at the side of the building. Her back felt terribly exposed; she fully expected to feel the impact of a bullet, maybe the last thing she would feel - and then they were stumbling inside their flimsy shelter; she was yanking a small knife from her belt and slicing through the ropes tying his wrists. 

"Stay down and don't move!" she hissed at him. But hiding wasn't for her. Kathy leaped at the thin wall beside her, vaulted over and into the next stall, and began to pull her disguise off. 

- - -

Years of training had honed his instincts and reflexes until a battle like this was almost second nature. Batman ducked under the fist one of Two-Face's men had swung at him, grabbed the unfortunate crook's arm, and spun him head first over his shoulder into the floor. Almost didn't have to think about it any more. 

The pursuit had gone smoothly. When the transmitter Kathy was wearing had stopped moving, they had parked out of sight of the farmhouse and barn and approached on foot. The signal had led them here, to this building, with its open skylights, an invitation for them to scale the walls and look inside... And the ceiling beams, perfect to take them closer while keeping them hidden. He would have preferred to wait until the cops got organized outside, but he and Nightwing had been prepared when Ames had blown Kathy's cover and they had been forced to go into action. 

He had hated letting her do this, expose herself to danger this way. He had tried to stop her. But in the few hours they had between the ransom demand and this morning, there was little choice. Anyway, as she had pointed out, the only other option was to use a policewoman in disguise, to ask someone else to risk her life... Kathy was right, but still... her life was somehow more precious... 

A gun pointed at him, death staring him in the face for an instant before Batman kicked it out of the man's hand, and followed up with an inelegant but effective punch in the jaw. With a moment's respite, he took in the situation. He had taken care of two opponents, Nightwing of one. His partner was now in pursuit of another who had dashed up the stairs to the hayloft. He started after them, but stopped as Batwoman's voice called. 

"Two-Face! He's getting away!" 

Harvey - Two-Face - was dashing for the back of the barn, where there must be another door, the ransom satchel clutched in his hands. Running feet and shouts announced the arrival of the police, and he glanced to see several uniformed officers charge through the front doorway and crouch in firing positions. Another glance: Batwoman was after Two-Face. Batman ran to pursue them. 

Another shout, this one even more urgent: Nightwing's voice crying, "_Look out!_" 

Batman looked up, gasped at the sight of a mass of hay and straw descending from above like a solid wall. No way to avoid it as it hit the floor, spread out, and spilled over him like a tidal wave; all he could do was cover his face. It lifted him off his feet, rolling him over, burying him. 

- - -

Nightwing caught up to the man he was chasing, a rat-faced character who wasn't very big but was surprisingly fast, at the wall of the hayloft. Rat-face spun to face him, his expression a mask of cornered rage. "You'll never take me alive!" he snarled. 

"I thought they only say that in the movies. All you have to do is call me 'copper', and..." 

The little man turned and leaped at the wall of the hayloft, pulling himself up and tumbling in. He began to thrash in the soft mass, trying to move towards the other side. 

Nightwing had followed, and perched on the edge. "You're not getting anywhere," he said conversationally. 

"Just watch me!" 

"I am. And I'm getting bored." Nightwing leaned to glance down to the main level of the barn. He saw Two-Face dash to the back wall. Light spilled in as a door opened. Batwoman was a few yards behind him, Batman starting to run after them. His opponent had lost his gun, he could keep; Nightwing wanted a piece of the action below. He turned to jump down to the loft floor. 

"Like I said, you'll never catch me!" The voice pulled his attention back to see Rat-face man had reached the wall of the hayloft that faced out over the edge, with a drop to the main level below. He was pulling at something... 

"No!" Too late, Nightwing realized what he was doing. A section of the hayloft wall swung down, releasing a flood of dank, rotting hay on the people beneath... "Watch out!" he shouted. Rat-face fell out along with the hay with a scream. Nightwing leaped down and raced for the stairs. 

Below, the combatants had disappeared under a layer of moldy hay. The cops had only caught the edge of it, they were straightening up, looking bewildered. "Come on!" Nightwing shouted. "Two-Face's men are buried; we've got to get them out before they suffocate!" He looked around for Batman and Batwoman and found them, Batman sitting up, pushing a pile of hay off him, Batwoman stepping away from the far wall, meeting his eyes with a nod, and then quickly moving out the door Two-Face had disappeared through. But it was too late to catch their main target; Nightwing could hear the roar of a motorcycle fading into the distance. 

- - -

"I see you managed to get my double back in one piece." Henry Logan didn't seem very happy about it; he leaned on his cane, surrounded by his matchstick creations in the vast living room of his mansion, glaring at them. Nightwing had to admit they made an odd sight: their costumes were dusty and stained and he and Batwoman were still picking hay out of their hair. Ames had fared a little better, protected in the stall where Batwoman had left him. When they had arrived he and his wife had quickly melted into a silent embrace. 

"For God's sake, Stanley, go home and get cleaned up," Logan snapped. "All of you smell like a barn." 

"Yes, sir." Meekly Ames wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and started for the door. Batman shot a cold look that would have intimidated the toughest of criminals at Logan. It had no visible effect. 

"You could at least say thank you," Nightwing muttered. 

"Hmmph," Logan snorted. "I might be more grateful if you'd recovered the rest of the ransom money. Almost half of it's gone. Now get out before those capes damage my work." 

Outside, they all paused in the yard, looking back at the house. "Strange," Batwoman said. "Logan's a very rich man. He could make this house beautiful, he could have friends, go out, have a happy life. Instead he hides in there from everyone, lets the house fall apart around him, while he puts all his affection into those ridiculous 'statues'..." 

"Yeah. He wasn't even glad to see you're okay," Nightwing said to Ames. "All he cares about is that his little life won't be disturbed by having to find a new double." 

To his surprise, Ames smiled. "I don't know about that," he said. "He's never called me by my first name before." He held out his hand. "Anyway, _I'll_ say thank you. Especially you, Batwoman. Nice disguise, but I'd know my Nancy anywhere. Sorry I wasn't smart enough to play along." 

"Can't really blame you. And everything came out all right," she said, shaking his hand. 

A few moments later the three of them were alone among the trees, just as at the start of this bizarre adventure only a few hours before. They started towards the street where they had left the Batmobile and the Batcycle. 

"Sorry," Batwoman said as they paused on the street. 

"What for?" Batman asked. 

"I should have stopped Harvey. Two-Face. If I'd just been a little faster, it could have all been over." 

"Don't feel bad," Nightwing told her. "He got away from me, too. Twice." 

"And from me," Batman surprised both of them by adding. "Stanley Ames is safe. Two-Face's latest gang is behind bars. No one was hurt. Not a bad night's work, for all of us." His face turned to look out over the street, and the city beyond it, buildings catching the bright midday light. "We'll get Harvey sooner or later." 

"I suppose. I just hope..." Her voice trailed off, but they all knew what she meant. Hopefully they could find Harvey, stop him and help him, before he did something that would seal his fate forever. 

- - -

Why had he come to this place? Harvey hunched his shoulders, hiding most of his face behind an upturned coat collar, as he pulled over to the side of the familiar street. Because he was alone again, and on the run again? Did he hope for some sort of comfort here? 

No, the only comfort he had out of this was the money... His men gone, another plan gone wrong, but he had grabbed up the satchel before he ran. About half of the ransom had been in it, about half a million... Enough for him to disappear again. Enough... 

The door of the house he was watching opened. A woman stepped out and turned to close the door, fishing in her purse for a few seconds for her keys. Light brown hair gleamed with honey-colored highlights in the sun. Harvey smiled. Gilda was always digging in that damn purse, never could find her keys. Her lack of organization had annoyed him sometimes. Now it seemed so normal, so lovable... so Gilda. 

She turned away from the door and walked to her car, opened it, and slid in. The sound of the engine drifted to his ears, and he watched it begin to move, hunching down further to keep out of sight as she pulled out and drove off. 

If only he could be with her one more time... If only he could be a normal man again, the man she loved, just for a little while, just long enough to recapture what they had meant to each other. Not forever; he wasn't that greedy. Just for a night, an evening, an hour... 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	9. False Faces

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

False Faces

- - -

It looked like an ordinary house. Small, quiet, out of the way. Harvey raised a hand to his face, touching the scarred left side, feeling the unevenness of the skin, knowing how grotesque it looked. It was his face that had ruined his life. Taken his girl. Thrown him into this miserable cycle of crime and hiding and fear. 

_If only..._ It overwhelmed him for a moment, the longing, the wishes. If only he had moved faster, and the acid hadn't hit him. If only Moroni hadn't been able to smuggle it into the courthouse. If only he hadn't tried the case himself, if only he had never heard the name Moroni... 

But there was no use in wishing, things were the way they were. Yet here he was, trying to reverse his fate, if only for an hour or two... The man inside that house was expecting him. He was probably waiting. Picking a path through the darkest shadows, Harvey crossed the street and rang the bell. 

- - -

_"Hello?"_

Barbara's voice on the phone was casual, with a hint of curiosity and a fainter hint of friendliness, the voice of a woman answering an unexpected call. Dick took a slight breath. "Hi, Babs. It's me." 

_"Hello, Dick."_ Had her tone become warmer or cooler? 

"Uh... How are you?" 

_"Fine. Same as ever. You?"_

"Fine." There was a brief silence. "I was wondering if you want to get together tonight? Dinner maybe?" 

_"Well..."_

He knew what she was thinking, as clearly as if he could read her mind. In the three weeks since the night he had come over for dinner with her and her father, they had had three more dates. Two had gone well, and he had thought things were really on track, but the last one... Bruce had called twice, only to ask for a report on a case he was involved in, but he had had to make up an excuse both times, leave Barbara sitting alone, and spend long minutes outside on the phone. Things had not been on track when he returned the second time, in fact it was fair to say they were thoroughly derailed. 

"Please? I know the last time was bad, but I promise, no more calls." 

_"No more sneaking off for a private conversation while you're on a date with me?"_

"I don't blame you for being mad." 

There was a sigh. _"I'm not really mad. Just disappointed."_

The woman knew how to make a guy feel guilty... "I'm sorry. Won't happen again." But he smiled ruefully at his own words. He was in no position to make a promise like that. In no position to make a relationship work. For the first time, he could understand Bruce's reluctance to get involved... and envied him his friendship with Kathy, one of the very few women who could understand. 

_"You realize I wouldn't do this for anyone else..."_ But her voice was bright and teasing. Dick smiled in relief. _"Okay, that sounds nice. Where? When?"_

"I'll pick you up in an hour, okay?" 

_"Great! See you then!"_

"See you." Dick stared at the phone after hanging up. Nothing better happen tonight. Nothing criminal, anyway. 

- - -

"How does it look?" 

"Don't talk. You'll loosen it." 

"Let me see." 

"Do you want it to look right or not?" 

Harvey subsided with only a wordless grumble, closed his eyes, and submitted as fingers spread more sticky goo over the left side of his face. It felt uncomfortable, layers of thin rubber, or plastic, or whatever it was, glue to hold it in place, makeup to cover the edges, powder, more makeup. Was this what women went through? No, not even close. Actors, maybe. The ones who made horror movies. 

He peered up at the man now leaning over him, examining his face with a critical eye. Max Waxman, a former Hollywood makeup artist, now out of a job after being caught dealing drugs. Harvey had helped supply evidence against him at that time. Ironic that Waxman would be helping him now, but - he needed money, Harvey had it, and here they were. 

"Okay. You can look." 

Harvey opened his eyes. He raised his head enough to see himself in the mirror. He stared blankly for a moment. It felt like looking at an image from the past... It was amazing. What looked like smooth skin covered the left side of his face, smooth, normal skin. When he looked more closely, he could see that it didn't quite look natural - didn't move and crinkle the way real skin did, looked a little thick and stiff and didn't quite have the right tone - didn't exactly match the right side - but it was still amazing. 

"Well?" 

"It looks - it looks okay." He touched it lightly with his fingertips. "Mr. Waxman, you're a true artist." 

"Don't rub the makeup." 

"How long will it last?" 

"If you don't touch it, if you don't smile too much, or talk too much... a few hours at least without a touchup." 

Harvey smiled. But not too much. "That's all I need. Thanks." 

Waxman stepped back and let him get up. "You haven't told me why you want this," he said. 

"No, I haven't." 

"I - I hope you're not going to use my makeup for - for..." 

"To commit a crime? Don't worry. All I want is... a date with my girl." 

- - -

He watched her approach across the garage roof they had chosen as a stakeout location, light from the quarter-moon overhead and the streetlamps below outlining her figure in lines of silver tinted by the subtly golden highlights of her Batwoman costume. The curve of a hip - the long line of a thigh, the graceful roundness of... he blinked and looked away. This wasn't the time to be thinking like that. 

"Anything?" she whispered after sliding to a seat beside him, leaning against the short wall enclosing the roof. 

"Not yet." He frowned. "We may be wasting our time." 

"No. Gilda told me days ago someone's been calling her but not saying anything. I'm sure it's Harvey. He wants to see her again." 

"Hmm. Too bad he's doing it from public phones," Batman muttered. 

"You've had them traced?" 

"I haven't told the police, no. I have my own sources." 

"Good. If the cops are here, he could end up getting shot." 

"I know." 

"We have to talk to him. Get him to turn himself in." 

"I know that too." He moved into a kneeling position. "Will you be okay alone?" 

"You ask me that every time." 

"And every time, I wonder if you're going to call me and wait for help if something happens, instead of charging in after him by yourself." 

"I can take care of myself. I'm not an idiot, and I'm not an amateur anymore." Batwoman's voice had sharpened with annoyance. 

"Sorry if I tend to worry about you." 

"Then don't." 

"Can't help it. You're important to me." Almost without conscious thought, he reached gloved fingers to brush her shoulder. 

"Well..." Her expression softened into a smile. "You sure know how to ruin a perfectly good argument. But you have partners now, whether you like it or not. Why not trust us a little, both of us?" She sighed. "Go on now, go home. Even you must need to sleep once in a while." 

"Okay. Be careful." 

"I promise not to make a move without you. Now get out of here." 

- - -

Flowers. A bottle of wine. A new face - or something close to the old face. He was ready. Harvey took a few deep breaths before walking up to her door. Pulling his courage together, he rang the bell. Briefly considered running. Then forced himself to calmness as the lock clicked and the door opened - and Gilda's face, so well-remembered, looked up at him, eyes glowing. 

"Harvey, you came... You're really here..." 

He smiled and held out the flowers and the bottle. "These are for you." 

She took them without looking at them, and reached out to pull him inside, shutting the door behind them. He stopped her as she reached for the light switch. 

"Leave it off. Can't let anyone see I'm here." 

"Oh, of course... When you called tonight I couldn't believe it. But here you are." 

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?" 

"Not when I knew it was you... but it was you all along, wasn't it? All those calls before, those hang-ups..." 

"I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. Harvey, your face... it's like before... What happened?" 

"I - I found a way to fix it." 

"How?" 

"It's a long story. I'd rather not talk about it now." 

"Let me see-" Her hand was reaching for him, fingers about to touch the left side of his face. 

"No!" He lowered his voice as she flinched. "I mean, the skin's still very sensitive. Better not to touch." 

"All right," she said tremulously. 

"Sorry." Awkwardly, he bent to kiss her, very lightly, not letting their faces get too close, and pulled back before she could respond. 

She smiled suddenly. "I'm so happy to see you. To know you're safe. You don't know how worried I've been, and all the things I've seen on the news... Harvey, you have to give yourself up. The police and everyone will understand. It's the only way." 

He bit back an angry response. She had no idea of the reality of his situation, none at all - she didn't understand, just like all of them, no one could understand. He forced himself to answer calmly. "Let's not talk about it now. Let's just pretend nothing ever happened. Just for tonight, I want to feel like everything's normal again. Please?" 

"If that's what you want." She seemed to really notice the flowers and wine for the first time. "I'll put these in water - and get glasses - I made dinner for us, all your favorites." 

"I'm sure I'll love it." He followed slowly as she disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Gilda's house. How long had it been? Months... they blurred in his mind. No, he wasn't going to think about that part of his life, he had decided. Every minute he was here was making it easier to forget, to forget that he ever had to go back. 

For a moment he stopped as his reflection stared back at him dimly from the glass surface of a curio cabinet in the hallway. His own face again, not that creature... _"But I'm still here,"_ it whispered. 

- - -

_"I'm not sure. I saw someone, but... it looked like him, but his face looked like before. Not scarred."_ Batwoman's voice was tense and uncertain. 

"It must be him. Stay put; I'm on my way." Bruce frowned, but hesitated only a moment before dialing again. After a ring, a new voice answered, sounding slightly apprehensive. 

_"What's up?"_

"Dick, it's me. Our friend has spotted someone. I think this is our chance." 

_"Oh, man... This is really not a good time."_

Bruce kept his voice steady despite a twinge of annoyance. "All right. If you can't make it, we'll handle it without you." 

_"No."_ Dick's tone was resigned. _"I said I'd help. I'll be there. Just - have to make a call first."_

"Hurry." 

- - -

Candles. Yes, candles, instead of the harshness - and revealing brightness - of the overhead light. Harvey found them in their usual spot in a cabinet, and carried them to the dining room. The table was already set with Gilda's best, waiting for them. He suppressed a twinge of guilt, set the candlesticks down, found matches, and in a minute or so stood back, admiring the way the light danced over china and silverware, casting the glimmer of reflected flame sparkling through the room, as shadows moved restlessly on the walls in an illusion of life. He stepped a little closer, and leaned forward - and caught his own image in the shiny surface of a serving platter... 

_"It's all a lie, you know."_

"No. This is me again. The real me." 

_"You've covered me up. But you can't hide the truth forever."_

"Just for tonight. That's all I want." 

_"And when tonight becomes tomorrow? She'll turn from you in horror again."_

"Harvey? Would you pour the wine?" 

He turned. Gilda was behind him, holding out the bottle. "Of course," he said. 

- - -

"Look, Babs, I'm really sorry. Believe me, I'd rather be with you." 

_"I still don't understand, Dick. How can you have to go to work so late like this?"_

"Something came up. It would take too long to explain, and I have to get going. I'm really sorry." 

_"Well, so am I."_

She sounded angry. "I really am sorry," he said again. "I'm still kind of new at this job, and Bruce has really gone out of his way to help me - I just can't let him down, you know? I know I'm letting you down instead, but I just have no choice." It wasn't entirely a lie, but close enough to stick in his throat. 

_"Well - I guess I understand."_ At least the annoyance was gone from her voice, even if there was still puzzlement and a little hurt. _"I guess I'll see you sometime."_

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Please?" 

_"Okay."_

"Have a good night." 

_"I'll try. Bye."_

He hung up. Lies, deceptions, concealment... No wonder Bruce had never had a decent relationship. Suddenly Dick felt a new understanding of his partner, and of that chill aloofness that so often seemed to surround him. Was this one of the things Bruce had tried to warn him about, one of the things he had tried to protect him from? And was the same thing going to happen to him? No, that wasn't the future he wanted, it would never happen... would it? 

No time for this, no time at all. Dick jumped to his feet and headed for the door. 

- - -

"Do you like it?" Gilda asked. 

Harvey could hear the tension in her voice. She was nervous. Part of him - the part that was reasonable and rational, the part he tried to listen to, knew he couldn't expect anything else when she was having dinner with a wanted criminal, a man who had treated her so badly the last times they had met. But the other part... 

_"She knows. She sees."_

He ignored the voice whispering from his distorted reflection in the depths of his wineglass. "Of course I like it. Prime rib, medium rare, baked potatoes, and the salad - you remembered everything I like." 

"I made chocolate mousse for dessert." 

"Sounds wonderful." 

_"She's staring. She can see right through you."_

"Harvey..." 

"Yes?" 

"What are you going to do now? You can't leave again. Disappear again." 

"I don't know. Didn't we agree not to talk about it tonight?" 

"I'm sorry, but we have to talk about it. You can't go on like this." 

He felt his eyes narrow, his mouth tighten. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it." 

"But I _am_ worried." 

Why couldn't she just drop it, just do what he said the way she usually did? But no, she always picked the worst times to get stubborn... "I said I don't want to talk about it," he repeated in a deceptively soft voice that brought a look of caution into her face. 

_"This was a mistake. You know it. She doesn't want you anymore."_

"Harvey, I'm your fiancée," she said, the firmness of her tone surprising him. "I have the right to know what you intend to do. And I have every intention of helping you any way I can." 

_"Don't trust her. She'll sell you out, first chance she gets."_

"Look, Gilda, I understand. But I can't give myself up. The decision's already been made." 

"What do you mean?" 

"The coin. The coin decided. I can't go against it." 

"The _coin_? I don't understand." She stared at him, her eyes suddenly intent, her brows drawing together. "Harvey...?" she said. 

But he already could feel it. Something was wrong. He clapped a hand over the left side of his face, feeling the edge of one of the thin sheets covering his skin - it was loose, it had lifted away, was curling up... Frantically he tried to pull it back into place and press it down, but it only loosened more. 

"Harvey? Oh, my God..." 

"No..." he whimpered, pawing desperately at the makeup and only succeeding in making things worse as patches of fake skin fell from his face; as Gilda's expression went from confusion to fear to horror. As his last attempt at real life disintegrated into nothing, like the shreds of his false face. "It was supposed to last for hours - damn Waxman, he did it wrong!" 

Gilda stared at the pieces of artificial skin that had dropped from his face to the table, then lifted her eyes back to his. "It's - it's not real..." she whispered. "Your face, it's still the same..." 

"Yes, it's still the same!" Overcome by shame, disappointment, anger, hurt, frustration, fear; he jumped to his feet, yanking away the remnants of plastic and makeup. "I'm still the same monster you couldn't bear to look at! Now - you'll run from me in disgust again!" 

"It wasn't like that!" She was standing too, shouting back, again surprising him. "If only you'd come to me with the truth! I - I don't care about your face! I love you! But - you tried to trick me, you didn't trust me - you've changed, Harvey, and not just on the outside!" 

"I'm still the same! It's the way others look at me that's different!" 

"Not all of us. Give yourself up, Harvey. Please, it's the only way." 

"Go to jail? Lose my freedom, lose everything? No way in hell!" 

She paused for a moment, staring again, her chest rising in deep breaths, but when she spoke, her voice was steady and crystal clear. "You like it, don't you? You _like_ being a criminal!" 

_"I like having people fear me..."_ The whispered echo of his own voice mocked him. 

"No! This was all a mistake!" He turned to run, to get out of here and away, back to that dark world that had become safer and more familiar to him than Gilda's was now. 

"Harvey!" A hand grabbed at his arm. Gilda got a grip on him and pulled, trying to stop him. When he twisted out of her grasp, she darted in front of him, blocking his way. 

Didn't want to hurt her - but he had to get out - Harvey grabbed her shoulders, pushing her to the side as she struggled against him. When the other voice came, in his confusion and agitation he almost thought it was his other side again - but it wasn't, it was low and silky smooth, not the hollow whisper that spoke to him from the creature. 

"Let her go, Harvey." 

"What? Batman!" 

A shadow separated itself from the darkened living room and stood in the doorway. "Yes. Just stay calm. There's nothing you can do, we've got the doors covered. Do yourself a favor and come along quietly, none of us wants to hurt you." 

"Gilda..." He turned to face her. 

"Harvey, please, do what he says." 

"You - you betrayed me? You told him I was coming, all along this was a trap..." 

"No! No, I didn't know anything about it. Please Harvey, don't-" 

But she was cut off as he pushed her away, hard, sending her stumbling to fall into Batman's arms. It slowed the masked man down just enough. The window, the big window at the end of the dining room, it was open to the breeze and there was only a short drop - he hurtled through it an instant later, and then was pounding over the lawn, hearing shouts behind him. As he threw himself into his car he could see them, all three, the Batman just hitting the ground under the window, Nightwing and Batwoman running from the front and back doors of the house, but they were too late. 

"You'll never get me, never," he muttered as the engine roared into life and carried him away. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	10. Double Cross

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Double Cross

- - -

"I'm sorry, Ms. Grace," Batman said again. 

"Oh, I know, you have to try to catch him - but now Harvey thinks I betrayed him!" 

"Capturing him, so he can get help, wouldn't have been a betrayal. But I'm sorry that it looked that way to him." He frowned, fists clenching as he bent a glance at Nightwing and Batwoman, both standing quietly beside him in Gilda's living room. "At any rate, we failed. Now he'll only be more bitter. Maybe more dangerous." 

"I'm _glad_ he got away." Gilda had crossed her arms, her face defiant. 

"Then you're a fool." He didn't raise his voice, but the quiet emphasis of his words had their effect in the sudden uncertainty of her expression. "The way Harvey's going, he'll end up either in jail, or locked up in an institution for the rest of his life. Or dead. So far he hasn't killed anyone. But sooner or later, if he isn't stopped and helped... Is that what you want? For him to be guilty of murder?" 

"No. Of course not." Her lips began to tremble. "Harvey... what can I do?" 

"Nothing. Just inform the police if he tries to contact you again." 

"I will." It was almost a whisper. 

"But he's not likely to try to see her again, is he?" Nightwing asked. 

"I suppose not." 

"So we've got nothing. No clue to where he is, or what he's going to do next," Batwoman muttered. 

"We'll think of something. Come on." Batman turned, and started for the door, hearing Nightwing's footsteps following. He looked back as he heard Batwoman speak up again. 

"Try not to worry," she was saying to Gilda, reaching a hand to touch her arm. "We'll figure something out. We all want to help Harvey almost as much as you do." 

Gilda nodded numbly. Then, as they all started to turn away again, her voice stopped them. "Wait. There's something he said." 

"Yes?" Batman asked. 

"The makeup he was wearing started to come off. He said, 'Waxman did it wrong...'" 

"Waxman?" 

"Max Waxman. Harvey told me about him; he was involved in prosecuting him years ago. He's a makeup artist, from Hollywood. I remember Harvey telling me a few months back that he had moved here, to Gotham." 

"And Harvey must have gone to him for the makeup job." Batman exchanged another glance with Nightwing. "He probably won't go back - but it's a lead worth following up. Thanks." 

"Batman, if you find him... please, don't hurt him." 

"We don't intend to." He knew it was an empty promise. They could only hope they wouldn't be forced to. 

- - -

"Waxman... Waxman!" Harvey pounded on the door again. "I know you're here, and I intend to see you!" 

He should have gone home, to the small apartment he rented from a landlord who wasn't very choosy about his clientele, or in fact about the accommodations he provided. Back to that rathole, back to the miserable existence he had sunk into, when he could have been with Gilda. If only the makeup hadn't fallen apart, everything would have been all right. Exactly how, he didn't want to think about too closely; it was much easier to focus all his pain, rage, frustration, and fear on Waxman, on the man now staring at him apprehensively as the door swung open. 

"What are you doing here? What do you want?" 

"Your makeup didn't work! It didn't last!" 

"I warned you it might come off after a few hours." Waxman grabbed his arm, pulling him in. "Don't want anyone seeing you here... If I'm caught associating with a known criminal my parole could be revoked." 

"A known criminal..." Harvey felt a moment of disorientation. "A criminal. Yes, that's right, that's what I am now." 

"Are you all right?" 

He snarled, focusing again on what had happened, on why he was here. "Of course I'm not all right! Because of you, everything went wrong! I wanted to be with my fiancée again, but it didn't work! She saw what was under the makeup - we could have been happy again. Together again. But you ruined it!" 

"But - you didn't think you could fool her forever, did you?" 

Harvey ignored the question. "She betrayed me, told Batman I was there! He almost got me. All because of you!" 

Waxman began to back away. "You can't blame _me_ for-" 

"Oh, I do blame you. I do. And I'll show you what it means to double-cross Two-Face!" 

- - -

They gathered on the empty sidewalk of the dark, quiet street outside Max Waxman's house, taking a moment to look it over. Most of the windows were dark, but there was a light shining from the other side of the front door. Batman took a step towards it. 

"We might as well follow the same plan," he said to his companions. "Batwoman, you cover the back. Nightwing, the front." 

"Yes, _sir_," Batwoman said. 

Ignoring her faintly ironic tone, he started forward again. "I'll see if Waxman has any idea of where Two-Face could be." 

But before he reached the door, an angry shout from inside brought them all to alarmed attention. It was followed by a crash. Without a word, they all raced for the door. As they found it unlocked and dashed inside, none of them noticed a figure step into the street from the shadows behind them. 

- - -

"I didn't do anything to you! Get out and leave me alone!" 

Harvey was vaguely aware that he was past the point of any rationality, but it didn't seem to matter in the flood of fury that filled him, chasing out any doubt or hesitation. He advanced on Waxman, pursuing him as he retreated backwards through the shabby living room, only pausing long enough to pick up a chair. He swung it into a small table, smashing both of them into flying shards of wood. 

"Get out! I'll call the police!" 

"And have them catch you with a _known criminal_? No one's going to help you now." Harvey kicked at the television set, breaking the glass and sending it toppling from its stand with a crackle and flash of dying electronic innards, sparks catching and flaring into life on the bottom of a nearby drape. He grabbed up a table lamp, hardly noticing the shadows it cast fluttering across the wall and ceiling before he pulled the cord free with an angry yank. 

"No, don't..." Waxman was cornered against the back wall, a bookcase blocking his path to another door leading into the house. 

Harvey raised the lamp, a surge of fierce joy electrifying him as the other man whimpered in fear and cowered, trying to shield his head. It would be so easy... so easy to smash him into nothingness, to punish him for his failure, to wipe out the memory of Gilda's stricken face... 

But he hesitated. It wouldn't take away the memory. It wouldn't erase the last hours, it wouldn't put things back the way they once were. In one sudden, cold moment he seemed to see himself from the outside, a hideous monster poised to strike down a man who had done him no harm. Hideous, yes, but not because of his face. Harvey staggered back, still clutching the lamp. He looked around at the destruction he had caused, smelled smoke and saw flames lick higher on the drapes, heard Waxman's soft, terrified sounds. What was he doing... what had he been doing for months, since he got out of the hospital; what had he become? How could this have happened; how could he have let it happen? Uncertainly, he lowered his arm. 

"Two-Face! Hold it right there!" The shout swung him around. 

"Batman!" The caped figure loomed in the doorway, two more crowding behind him, cutting off the light from the hall, casting him into darkness except for the flickering light of the growing fire. He backed away, towards the second door. 

"No use running." Batman's voice dropped into silky menace, anger tightly leashed under its surface as he glanced at Waxman's huddled form. "You're not getting away this time." 

"You don't understand..." 

No use, the only thing left for him was to run... Harvey whirled and sprinted for the door, skidded into a short hallway, dashed down it. He heard Batman shout an order at his partners before footsteps sounded behind him. He glanced back, turned just enough to throw the lamp at his pursuer, and burst through another door into a kitchen. Frantically he looked around for a way out. There was a door - he threw himself at it, sweat-slicked hands slipping on the knob. Locked - couldn't get it open - and they were after him, they would get him... 

He pressed his back into the wall, panting, his gun drawn as Batman ran into the room and abruptly stopped. They stared at each other. No sign of the other two, probably trying to put out the fire... Batman moved a step farther inside. 

"It's over, Two-Face. Give up and come quietly, and I'll keep my promise, do whatever I can to help you." 

"I don't think so. And I'm the one with a gun." 

"I don't think you'll shoot me." 

"I don't want to shoot anyone. But I can't go to jail. I can't face... Just - just stay back." 

Batman moved another step, away from the doorway. "You've committed grand larceny. Kidnapping. Now arson. Give yourself up before you add murder to the list." He seemed to hesitate, his voice softening. "I'm trying to help you. Trying to be your friend." 

"My friend? I have no friends! My so-called friends can't even look at my face! Not even my fiancée!" 

"You haven't given anyone a chance!" 

"I'm a freak, now, a monster! I belong with other monsters... criminals, murderers, thieves! They're my only friends now!" 

"One way or another, it stops now, Harvey. Give me the gun." He took another step. 

"No!" Panic filled Harvey again. He grabbed at the doorknob. "I have to get out! Back off, or I swear I'll shoot!" 

As he rattled the knob in desperation, there was movement, too quick to see clearly in the half-light and a thin haze of smoke. Someone else ran in, darting at him. As he jumped and swung the gun towards that shadowed figure, Batman sprang at him, leaping across the room. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was just an involuntary reaction, or maybe in that instant he did it out of a self-protective reflex. He would never be entirely sure, although the question would haunt him in years to come. Harvey felt himself squeeze the trigger. The gun went off with a sharp bang and an equally sharp recoil. The person who had run in, who had dashed between himself and Batman, collapsed on the cold tiled floor with only a faint gasp. 

"_Gilda!_" he cried. Harvey felt something rip inside him as he saw her face grimace in pain, as he realized what he had done. Some outer layer of himself, something that had distorted his vision of everything around him seemed to fall away, leaving the world in suddenly sharp and painful focus. "Gilda!" he whispered. 

Batman was bending over her. Harvey pushed him aside and gathered her into his arms, lifting her head and shoulders into his lap, stroking her hair and willing her to look at him. Her eyes were open - for a terrifying moment they stared blankly, but then she blinked and looked up at him. 

"Gilda, why?" he cried. 

"Harvey... I had to come, I had to talk to you, explain, make you understand, before it was too late. Explain that I didn't betray you..." 

"She's right," Batman said quietly over his shoulder. "We were watching the house, expecting you to show up. She didn't tell us you were coming." 

"Then - then I told them about Waxman... I had to, Harvey, had to stop you before something terrible happened." 

But something terrible_ had_ happened. Harvey swallowed and tried to speak calmly. "Don't - don't try to talk." 

"I still love you, Harvey. If you don't believe anything else, believe that. Please, give yourself up. Let your friends help you. Don't let yourself be destroyed... Harvey..." 

"I will, Gilda. If you'll help me too." 

"Promise me..." Slowly, her eyes drifted shut. Her head rolled limply to the side. 

"Gilda..." He didn't shout her name, didn't shake her or cry out. He just sat there bent over her, his fingers still in the silky brown of her hair, watching as the life seemed to drain out of her face, as her image blurred through a haze of tears. "She's dead," he whispered. "I've killed her." 

"No, she isn't," Batman said briskly. He had her wrist in his hand, and briefly laid his fingers on her ribs. "She's still breathing, but we have to get her to a hospital." He looked up. Harvey followed his gaze to see Nightwing and Batwoman standing over them, his face grim, hers shocked and pale. 

"We got the fire out," Nightwing said. "Waxman's okay. I called the police. And an ambulance." 

Batman turned his attention back to Harvey. "Will you do what Gilda wanted?" he asked. "She risked everything to try and save you. Are you going to let us help you this time?" 

Harvey tightened his grip on Gilda, looking down into her face. "I'll give myself up," he said softly, and added, just to her, "I promise." 

- - -

"She loved me all the time, in spite of my face, she loved me. I've been a blind fool..." Harvey paused in the path he had been pacing up and down a bare and harshly lit hospital corridor, only vaguely aware of the four police officers who had taken him into custody as they watched him alertly. Under arrest - but it hardly seemed important. And they had even been kind - allowed him to come here, to wait while Gilda was operated on. He looked down at his wrists, locked in handcuffs. It was nothing compared to what he deserved. 

"I was wrong, about so many things..." His reflection in the metal of a plaque on the wall caught his eye. He waited for a response, for the voice to tell him he was being a fool, making a mistake to believe anyone, to trust anyone. But there was nothing. The monster had gone; there was only the dim image of a man with scars on one side of his face. 

A small commotion, the sound of voices, attracted his attention to the other end of the long corridor. A small knot of people there broke to reveal several familiar faces. Commissioner James Gordon led the way, waving aside the police to make a path. Behind him were his daughter Barbara, Bruce, Kathy, and a young man Harvey vaguely remembered from the party at which he had behaved so disgracefully. 

He was silent, fidgeting uncomfortably with the handcuffs, as they came up to him. They all stared, no one seeming to know what to say when all the usual greetings were wildly inappropriate. 

Finally Bruce stepped past Gordon and faced him. "We're here, Harvey," he said simply. 

"Thanks." He took a deep breath, searching for words, and found only, "I'm sorry." 

"They're doing everything they can for Gilda. You can stay here until - until we know," Gordon said gruffly, before turning away. Barbara followed. The young man seemed to hesitate before going after her, but they spoke for a moment and then sat down together. After a smile and a touch on his arm, Kathy walked away too, leaving him with Bruce. 

"I thought I had no friends anymore," Harvey said, half to himself. "Bruce, you tried to be my friend. I can see that now. And Batman, he wanted to help me too, and I tried to kill him. The way I look now - I felt like I'd become a monster, and I started to act like one, too." 

"Harvey..." Bruce began, and paused before going on. "Look, I won't say it's not your fault, or that you couldn't help it. But you went through a terrible shock. I suppose - I can understand what you did, after what happened to you. The important thing now is to decide what you're going to do in the future." 

Harvey raised his cuffed wrists. "Do I have a choice about that? Isn't it too late for me?" 

"Yes, you do. There are always choices. And there's always another chance, if you're willing to take it." 

"I don't know. How can I have any hope of going back to my old life?" 

"It won't be the same. But you can get treatment. When you get out, there will still be a life worth living for you." 

He shook his head. "Not if Gilda isn't there..." 

"She did everything to bring you back to your senses. Now - what are you going to do for her? Let her sacrifice be in vain? Or keep your promise?" 

"My promise... You're right, of course. I'll - I'll do it, I'll try my best, for her." 

Bruce smiled. "Good. I'll hold you to that. We all will." 

Harvey looked around. Jim Gordon was on a bench with Kathy, talking quietly, nodding when they saw him watching. Barbara was sitting on another bench with her young man, deep in conversation, holding hands, but she looked up to see him too, and they both paused to give him a smile. 

The people he had attacked at that party - Jim especially. The people he had held a gun on. Yet here they were, largely for Gilda, he knew, but some of it was for him, too, in spite of everything. 

"Mr. Dent?" 

The voice came from behind him. Harvey turned to see a short man in a white lab coat looking at him nervously. A doctor. He pulled himself up and nodded, his throat suddenly too dry to ask the question. 

"Ms. Grace, your fiancée, suffered a bullet - uh - a wound to the chest. She had a collapsed lung - internal bleeding-" 

Bruce interrupted. "Will she live?" 

"She's still critical, but stable. No guarantees, of course, but she's got a very good chance." 

"A chance," Harvey murmured. "Another chance..." 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	11. Afterthoughts

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. Many thanks to all those who have reviewed or sent feedback, it means a lot - and especially to Rach, Dagmar, Rick, and Silver, who followed me outside their favorite fandoms, and Becky who I haven't thanked by email. 

**Duplicity**

* * *

Afterthoughts

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, October 10_

The doctors thought this would be a good idea. Personally I think it's stupid. Diaries are for teenaged girls, not an ex-DA in prison. But they said it's therapeutic, and I definitely want to get out of here someday, so what the hell; I'll play along. 

Okay, so it isn't really a prison. It's an institution for the criminally insane. Arkham. I didn't like visiting here when I was a prosecutor, and I like living here even less now. Bad company, for one thing, when it's full of people like the Joker and the Scarecrow. But I guess I'm no better than they are. 

I have to admit they try here. I'm in treatment, therapy sessions every day. They seem to be making a project out of me, since I'm one of the few who might actually improve, according to Dr. Myers. He's my primary therapist. Sort of the head head-shrinker. I guess I should be grateful and happy to be here. But it's still got bars, and cells, and locks. It's still a prison. 

Gilda came to see me last week; she's finally out of the hospital. We had a talk. I told her I wanted to break our engagement; don't want her tied down to a guy who's in a prison loony-bin. She refused to take the ring off. As usual, she picks the strangest things to get stubborn about. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, November 4_

I had an interesting visit from Bruce and Kathy. Hard to tell with those two, but from the way they acted together, the little looks at each other, the way they sat so close... When Kathy stepped out for a few minutes I asked Bruce if they're back together. He got that look, the one that means he doesn't want to give anything away. When I kept after him, he admitted they're going out again. Not a commitment, he said, and he mumbled something about how they're together but not 'together' together... I almost laughed. 

And I guess romance is in the air, because they told me Barbara's still dating that kid Bruce introduced her to. Dick Grayson. Bruce seems to think it won't last, for some reason, but Kathy kept saying how sweet they are together - probably just to tease Bruce. 

For some reason it occurred to me later to wonder how he had known about the promise I made to Gilda, when I thought she was dying. Maybe Batman told him. Anyway, I suppose it's not important. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, November 28_

My medical treatment starts next week; I'm having plastic surgery. Must be expensive, and I don't have any money left to speak of - I asked how it's being paid for, and they told me it was an anonymous donor. Anonymous, but I can guess. Bruce, or Kathy. Probably Bruce, it's the kind of thing he would do. I don't know - don't know whether to be grateful, or annoyed because I'll never have any way to repay him. 

They're going to remove most of the scars, and use some kind of artificial skin over the wounds, and my skin cells are supposed to grow into it, until eventually it's all just my own skin. It's new, and supposed to be better than regular skin grafts. They warned me that I'll have to have more than one operation, and wear pressure bandages for months, and that I'll still have scars. I'll never look like I did before. How can I tell them it doesn't really matter to me anymore, that I don't really care? My face is my face, and I'm stuck with it. But - an improvement might be a good thing, and I guess they think it'll help. 

I'm still getting my head shrunk by Dr. Myers every damn day. Questions about my childhood, my parents, about everything that ever happened to me, and everything I do and say and think and feel. It really gets to me sometimes. Can't he understand there are things I just don't want to talk about, or think about, or even remember? Things it doesn't do any good to rehash? And I swear I'm going to hit the next person who asks, "How does that make you feel?" 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, December 25_

The operation went well, or so they tell me. I have to finish healing from this one, and probably have another in a few months. Whether it did anything, I don't know; I'm still covered in bandaging and this plastic face thing to put pressure on the new skin and keep it smooth. 

It's hard, being here for Christmas. Gilda came to visit, but it's still not the same as being home, being free. Being able to have more than a little handholding and a quick kiss hello and goodbye. Maybe someday, if she actually means it about still wanting to marry me. 

Therapy's still dragging on, too. Myers' latest thing is my vanity. My 'obsession with beauty and perfection', my 'tendency to define myself in terms of my appearance'. Most of the time I think it's crap. The weird thing is, sometimes he's actually got me believing it. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, January 18_

Gilda came again, and sat with me, and talked. She's been fully recovered for a while now, and seems to be feeling fine, lots of smiling and laughing, all to cheer me up, I know. 

I still can't forget what I did to her, how I hurt her and turned my back on her, the sheer hell I put her through. And then I almost killed her. How she can forgive me, I have no idea. If it had been me, I don't think I could have done it, but Gilda says she understands what I was going through and why it happened. 

I wish I did. 

That's another thing I've been talking to Dr. Myers about lately, in therapy. My guilt. He says I have to face it, and understand it, learn to live with it, and go on from there. I know he's trying to help, but - how can he understand? I try to find excuses for myself. But I don't know if I can. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, February 12_

Heard the news a few days ago. The doctors didn't tell me for a while, probably didn't want to upset my 'delicate mental balance'. What happened was terrible for all of us, but worst of all for Bruce. I wish I could be there to help him, the way he's done so much to help me. Maybe if I ever get out of here, I'll find some way. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, March 7_

I talked to Gilda again, about getting married, or not. This is the second time I've given her the chance to back out gracefully, and she's refused. I'm just not sure whether it's because she really wants me, or just feels sorry for me. 

I mean, look at it logically. I'm ugly now. Not just homely or not good-looking, but scarred. Damaged. Deformed. Okay, that's just the surface. But there's more; I'm a criminal now - an ex-criminal - I don't have money, don't have the reputation as a lawyer that it took me so long to build. Most people would think she's crazy to want to marry me, and tie herself down to me and my problems for the rest of my life. I have nothing to offer her. 

Dr. Myers thinks I'm being too hard on myself - as if that's possible - or that's what he says. Of course, he's in the business of making people feel better - but he seems to mean it. He says I'm my own worst critic; I'm the only one who can't forgive what I did. He's right about that, I'm amazed at how understanding most of my victims have been. Even Henry Logan decided not to press charges. So did Max Waxman, although I suspect he was given some financial incentives, probably by Bruce. 

Myers isn't surprised about that. He says I'd be able to forgive someone else who did the same things for the same reasons. I thought about that one. Maybe. I don't know anymore. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, April 20_

The second operation was done a few weeks ago, and it went well, they tell me. The doctors are hopeful that I won't need any more. They say therapy is going well, too. I don't know, I used to think it's just a lot of talk, but maybe I'm getting used to it. 

Supposedly it was a breakthrough when I finally told Dr. Myers about the voice. Frankly I was afraid to, thought they'd just decide I'm crazier than they thought. But he asked all kinds of questions, and asked if I'd heard it again since Gilda was shot. I haven't. I wonder about that sometimes, where it came from, and where it went. Most of all, if it's ever coming back. Myers said it was a 'stress-related phenomenon', and that it seems to have resolved itself. He said the voice was expressing my anger at what happened to me, that it was in a way another side of me, sort of a multiple personality. Then, when I didn't need it or want it anymore, it disappeared. 

All that anger and violence - it's hard to accept that it was a part of me. I asked Myers if everyone is like that, if everyone has a dark side that's just waiting for the right time to appear. If everyone is capable of going off the deep end like I did. 

He got really quiet and thoughtful, and said he didn't know, no one does, but that anger and fear are the most primitive emotions, coming from the most primitive part of our brains. The reptile brain, he called it. We like to think we're above all that, being higher than animals, but the truth is we're just as much animals as anything else. We can't escape that part of ourselves, and we shouldn't; we need it to survive. 

I got to see a side of myself that no one should ever have to face. I only hope it never shows itself again. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, May 29_

I've spent a lot of time looking in the mirror lately. No, not hearing the voice again, just trying to get used to myself the way I am now. Not all that easy so far, my skin hasn't completely healed from the latest operation, and I'm still in bandages and a pressure mask most of the time. But I take them off sometimes, long enough to get an idea. It's not pretty, but - it doesn't shock me anymore. 

Beauty. Appearance. Been doing a lot of thinking about that lately too. I heard somewhere that physical appearance is the first thing we love about someone, and the last thing. The first because when you meet someone, the way they look is all you have to go by. You may assume you know what they're like underneath, but you only find out the truth over time. That's the part you really fall in love with, the things that don't show. And then the last - when you're in love, the person you love is beautiful in your eyes, no matter what they may look like to other people. 

I've started to think that when Gilda looks at me, she honestly doesn't see the scars, the bandages, the ugliness. Or maybe it just doesn't matter, and I guess that's just about the same thing. Hard as it is to believe, she still loves me. 

Another thing I've wondered about - if it had been her, if she had been disfigured in some way, would I have been able to go on loving her? If it happened now - I know for a fact I would never let her go, no matter what. But before the vitriol - there were so many things I saw differently then. I don't know. This whole thing has changed me, and in some ways it's an improvement. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, June 15_

Dr. Myers and the other doctors are impressed with my progress, both physical and mental. They've started to talk about the day when I'll leave here, and start my life over. I don't know, the thought kind of scares me. It's safe here, and familiar. Never thought it could happen, but even the idea of not having Myers to talk to every day bothers me. And - I know I'm hiding from reality, but... what am I going to do on the outside? 

Gilda will help. I'm sure so will Bruce, in spite of his own troubles. In the end, it's all up to me to start over, to face the challenges. I'll have to make some decisions, fight disbarment if I want to practice law again, worry about money. It's a lot to think about. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, July 9_

The bandages are off now. My new skin - well, it's not my old face, but it's better. Much better, and they say it'll improve after more time to heal. I'll never be good-looking again, never really look normal again, but at least I feel like I can walk down the street without wondering if everyone is staring at me. When I finally let Gilda see, she started to cry. I almost did too. 

- - -

_Harvey Dent's Journal, August 18_

It's official now. If everything continues to go smoothly, I'll be out of here in another month. Free, but with the responsibility of beginning a new and better life. Others have done what they could for me, more than I could possibly have expected, so much that I can't even begin to repay it. Every time I look at my face in the mirror, I'll know how much I have to be grateful for. 

But the biggest changes don't show on the outside. I guess I've learned to accept things the way they are. It's kind of like my face; life may not be perfect, and it may not be beautiful, but it's my life, and with some help I'll make the best of it that I can. 

Here, today, on the lawn outside the main residence building at Arkham, in the sun and the fresh air, Gilda sitting with me, I know I've been given a second chance. I can see her look up at me now, smiling. 

"Still keeping that journal?" she asks. 

"Guess I've gotten in the habit." 

"When are you going to let me read it?" 

I blink at her. "I don't know. There's a lot of personal stuff in here." 

"Too personal for your future wife?" 

I think about it for a few seconds, wondering how she'd react to the earlier entries, the ones that were angry, or resentful, or hopeless, the ones when I doubted her. "Some of it - isn't very pretty." 

"It's you, Harvey. It doesn't need to be pretty." 

I nod, suddenly sure, just stopping long enough to write these last lines before I hand it over to her. She waits, leaning her head back against the chair and watching with a smile, sunlight glinting on her hair. 

All in all, I guess I'm a pretty lucky guy. 

- - -

  


- End -

  
  



End file.
